LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

MRS.   MARY  WOLFSOHN 

IN   MEMORY  OF 

HENRY  WOLFSOHN 


Ql    j^r 


1 


14 

J 


lv£f> 


THE   VALE   OF   CEDARS; 


an, 


GRACE  AOUILAR, 

4PTHOR  OF  "HOME  INFLUENCE,"  "WOMAN'S  FRIENDSHIP,"  ETC. 


•The  wild  dove  hath  her  nest— the  fox  her  cave- 
Mankind  tlnir  country— Israel  but  the  grave." 

BYRON. 


°r 


NEW-YORK  : 

D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY. 
1851. 


v/ 


<v  'rf. 


MEMOIR  OF  GRACE  AGUILAR. 


GRACE  AGUILAR  was  born  at  Hackney,  June  2nd,  1816. 
She  was  the  eldest  child,  and  only  daughter  of  Emanuel 
Aguilar,  one  of  those  merchants  descended  from  the  Jews 
of  Spain,  who,  almost  within  the  memory  of  man,  fled  from 
persecution  in  that  country,  and  sought  and  found  an  asy 
lum  in  England. 

The  delicate  frame  and  feeble  health  observable  in  Grace 
Aguilar  throughout  her  life,  displayed  itself  from  infancy ; 
from  the  age  of  three  years,  she  was  almost  constantly  un 
der  the  care  of  some  physician,  and,  by  their  advice,  annu 
ally  spending  the  summer  months  by  the  sea,  in  the  hope  of 
rousing  and  strengthening  a  naturally  fragile  constitution. 
This  want  of  physical  energy  was,  however,  in  direct  con 
trast  to  her  mental  powers,  which  developed  early,  and 
readily.  She  learned  to  read  with  scarcely  any  trouble, 
and  when  once  that  knowledge  was  gained,  her  answer  when 
asked  what  she  would  like  for  a  present,  was  invariably  "  A 
book,"  which  was  read,  re-read,  and  preserved  with  a  care 
remarkable  in  so  young  a  child.  With  the  exception  of 
eighteen  months  passed  at  school,  her  mother  was  her  sole 
instructress,  and  both  parents  took  equal  delight  in  direct 
ing  her  studies,  and  facilitating  her  personal  inspection  of 


fl  MEMOIR    OF    GRACE    AGUILAR. 

all  that  was  curious  and  interesting  in  the  various  counties 
of  England  to  which  they  resorted  for  her  health. 

From  the  early  age  of  seven  she  commenced  keeping  a 
journal,  which  was  continued  with  scarce  any  intermission 
throughout  her  life.  In  1825  she  visited  Oxford,  Chelten 
ham,  Gloucester,  Worcester,  Eoss,  and  Bath,  and  though  at 
that  time  but  nine  years  old,  her  father  took  her  to  Glouces 
ter  and  Worcester  cathedrals,  and  also  to  see  a  porcelain 
and  pin  manufactory,  &c.,  the  attention  and  interest  she  dis 
played  on  these  occasions,  affording  convincing  proof  that  her 
mind  was  alive  to  appreciate  and  enjoy  what  was  thus  pre 
sented  to  her  observation.  Before  she  had  completed  her 
twelfth  year  she  ventured  to  try  her  powers  in  composition, 
and  wrote  a  little  drama,  called  Gustavus  Vasa,  never  pub 
lished,  and  only  here  recorded  as  being  the  first  germ  of 
what  was  afterwards  to  become  the  ruling  passion. 

In  September,  1828,  the  family  went  to  reside  in  Devon 
shire  for  the  health  of  Mr.  Aguilar,  and  there  a  strong  ad 
miration  for  the  beauties  and  wonders  of  nature  manifested 
itself:  she  constantly  collected  shells,  stones,  seaweed,  moss 
es,  &c.,  in  her  daily  rambles  ;  and  not  satisfied  with  admir 
ing  their  beauty,  sedulously  procured  whatever  little  cate 
chisms  or  other  books  on  those  subjects  she  could  purchase, 
or  borrow,  eagerly  endeavoring  by  their  study,  to  increase 
her  knowledge  of  their  nature  and  properties. 

When  she  had  attained  the  age  of  fourteen,  her  father 
commenced  a  regular  course  of  instruction  for  his  child,  by 
reading  aloud,  while  she  was  employed  in  drawing,  needle 
work,  &c.  History  was  selected,  that  being  the  study  which 
now  most  interested  her,  and  the  first  work  chosen  was  Jo- 
Bephus. 

It  was  while  spending  a  short  time  at  Tavistock,  in 
1830,  that  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  scenery  led  her  to 
express  her  thoughts  in  verse.  Several  small  pieces  soon 


MEMOIR    OF    GRACE   AGUILAR.  Vil 

followed  her  first  essay,  and  she  became  extremely  fond  of 
this  new  exercise  and  enjoyment  of  her  opening  powers,  yet 
her  mind  was  so  well  regulated,  that  she  never  permitted  her 
self  to  indulge  in  original  composition  until  her  duties,  and 
her  studies,  were  all  performed. 

Grace  Aguilar  was  extremely  fond  of  music ;  she  had 
learned  the  piano  from  infancy,  and  in  1831  commenced 
the  harp.  She  sang  pleasingly,  preferring  English  songs, 
and  invariably  selecting  them  for  the  beauty  or  sentiment  of 
the  words ;  she  was  also  passionately  fond  of  dancing,  and 
her  cheerful  lively  manners  in  the  society  of  her  young 
friends,  would  scarcely  have  led  any  to  imagine  how  deeply 
she  felt  and  pondered  upon  the  serious  and  solemn  subjects 
which  afterwards  formed  the  labor  of  her  life.  She  seemed 
to  enjoy  all,  to  enter  into  all,  but  a  keen  observer  would  de 
tect  the  hold  that  sacred  and  holy  principle  ever  exercised 
over  her  lightest  act,  and  gayest  hour.  A  sense  of  duty 
was  apparent  in  the  meiest  trifle,  and  her  following  out  of 
the  divine  command  of  obedience  to  parents,  was  only  equal 
led  by  the  unbounded  affection  she  felt  for  them.  A  wish 
was  once  expressed  by  her  mother  that  she  should  not  waltz, 
and  no  solicitation  could  afterwards  tempt  her.  Her  mother 
also  required  her  to  read  sermons,  and  study  religion  and 
the  Bible  regularly ;  this  was  readily  submitted  to,  first  as 
a  task,  but  afterwards  with  much  delight ;  for  evidence  of 
which  we  cannot  do  better  than  quote  her  own  words  in  one 
of  her  religious  works. 

"  This  formed  into  a  habit,  and  persevered  in  for  a  life, 
would  in  time,  and  without  labor  or  weariness,  give  the  com 
fort  and  the  knowledge  that  we  seek ;  each  year  it  would 
become  lighter,  and  more  blest,  each  year  we  should  discov 
er  something  we  knew  not  before,  and  in  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  feel  to  our  heart's  core  that  the  Lord  our 
God  is  Truth." — Women  of  Israel,  Vol.  II,  page  43. 


Vlll  MEMOIR    OF    GRACE   AGUILAR. 

Nor  did  Grace  Aguilar  only  study  religion  for  her  own 
personal  observance  and  profit.  She  embraced  its  principles 
(the  principles  of  all  creeds)  in  a  widely  extended  and  truly 
liberal  sense.  She  carried  her  practice  of  its  holy  and  be 
nevolent  precepts  into  every  minutiae  of  her  daily  life,  doing 
all  the  good  her  limited  means  would  allow,  finding  time,  in 
the  midst  of  her  own  studies,  and  most  varied  and  con 
tinual  occupations,  to  work  for,  and  instruct  her  poor  neigh 
bors  in  the  country,  and  while  steadily  venerating  and 
adhering  to  her  own  faith,  neither  inquiring  nor  heeding 
the  religious  opinions  of  the  needy  whom  she  succored  or 
consoled.  To  be  permitted  to  help  and  comfort,  she  con 
sidered  a  privilege  and  a  pleasure ;  she  left  the  rest  to  God  ; 
and  thus  bestowing  and  receiving  blessings  and  smiles  from 
all  who  had  the  opportunity  of  knowing  her,  her  young  life 
flowed  on,  in  an  almost  uninterrupted  stream  of  enjoyment, 
until  she  had  completed  her  nineteenth  year. 

Alas  !  the  scene  was  soon  to  change,  and  trials  awaited 
that  spirit  which,  in  the  midst  of  sunshine,  had  so  beauti 
fully  striven  to  prepare  itself  a  shelter  from  the  storm.  The 
two  brothers  of  Miss  Aguilar,  whom  she  tenderly  loved, 
left  the  paternal  roof  to  be  placed  far  from  their  family  at 
school.  Her  mother's  health  necessitated  a  painful  and  dan 
gerous  operation,  and  from  that  time  for  several  years,  al 
ternate  hopes  and  fears  through  long  and  dreary  watchings 
beside  the  sick  bed  of  that  beloved  mother,  became  the  por 
tion  of  her  gifted  child.  But  even  this  depressing  and  ar 
duous  change  in  the  duties  of  her  existence  did  not  suspend 
her  literary  pursuits  and  labors.  She  profited  by  all  the  in 
tervals  she  could  command,  and  wrote  the  tale  of  the  "  Mar 
tyr,"  the  "  Spirit  of  Judaism,"  and  "  Israel  Defended  ;"  the 
latter  translated  from  the  French,  at  the  earnest  request  of 
a  friend,  and  printed  only  for  private  circulation.  The 
41  Magic  Wreath,"  a  little  poetical  work,  and  the  first  our 


MEMOIR    OF    GRACE    AGUILAR.  IX 

authoress  ever  published,  dedicated  to  the  Right  Honorable 
the  Countess  of  Munster,  also  appeared  about  this  time. 

In  the  Spring  of  1835,  Grace  Aguilar  was  attacked  with 
measles,  and  never  afterwards  recovered  her  previous  state 
of  health,  suffering  at  intervals  with  such  exhausting  feel 
ings  of  weakness,  as  to  become  without  any  visible  disease 
really  alarming. 

The  medical  attendants  recommended  entire  rest  of  mind 
and  body  ;  she  visited  the  sea,  and  seemed  a  little  revived, 
but  anxieties  were  gathering  around  her  horizon,  to  which 
it  became  evidently  impossible  her  ardent  and  active  mind 
could  remain  passive  or  indifferent,  and  which  recalled 
svery  feeling,  every  energy  of  her  impressible  nature  into 
action.  Her  elder  brother,  who  had  long  chosen  music  as 
his  profession,  was  sent  to  Germany  to  pursue  his  studies ; 
the  younger  determined  upon  entering  the  sea  service.  The 
excitement  of  these  changes,  and  the  parting  with  both, 
was  highly  injurious  to  their  affectionate  sister,  and  her 
delight  a  few  months  after,  at  welcoming  the  sailor  boy  re 
turned  from  his  first  voyage,  with  all  his  tales  of  danger 
and  adventure,  and  his  keen  enjoyment  of  the  path  of  life 
he  had  chosen,  together  with  her  struggles  to  do  her  utmost 
to  share  his  walks  and  companionship,  contributed  yet  more 
to  impair  her  inadequate  strength. 

The  second  parting  was  scarcely  over  ere  her  father,  who 
had  long  shown  symptoms  of  failing  health,  became  the  vic 
tim  of  consumption.  He  breathed  his  last  in  her  arms,  and 
the  daughter,  while  sorrowing  over  all  she  had  lost,  roused 
herself  once  more  to  the  utmost,  feeling  that  she  was  the  sole 
comforter  beside  her  remaining  parent.  Soon  after,  when 
her  brother  again  returned,  finding  the  death  of  his  father, 
he  resolved  not  to  make  his  third  voyage  as  a  midshipman,  but 
endeavor  to  procure  some  employment  sufficiently  lucrative 
1* 


X  MEMOIR    OF    GRACE    AGUILAR. 

to  prevent  his  remaining  a  burthen  upon  his  widowed 
mother.  Long  and  anxiously  did  he  pursue  this  object,  his 
sister,  whose  acquaintance  with  literary  and  talented  persons 
had  greatly  increased,  using  all  her  energy  and  influence  in 
his  behalf,  and  concentrating  all  the  enthusiastic  feelings  of 
her  nature  in  inspiring  him  with  patience,  comfort,  and  hope, 
as  often  as  they  failed  him  under  his  repeated  disappoint 
ments.  At  length  his  application  was  taken  up  by  a  power 
ful  friend,  for  her  sake,  and  she  had  the  happiness  of  succeed 
ing,  and  saw  him  depart  at  the  very  summit  of  his  wishes. 
Repose,  which  had  been  so  long  necessary,  seemed  now  at 
hand ;  but  her  nerves  had  been  too  long  and  too  repeatedly 
overstrung,  and  when  this  task  was  done,  the  worn  and  weary 
spirit  could  sustain  no  more,  and  sank  under  the  labor  that 
had  been  imposed  upon  it. 

Severe  illness  followed,  and  though  it  yielded  after  a  time 
to  skilful  remedies  and  tender  care,  her  excessive  languor 
and  severe  headaches,  continued  to  give  her  family  and 
friends  great  uneasiness. 

During  all  these  demands  upon  her  time,  her  thoughts, 
and  her  health,  however,  the  ruling  passion  neither  slumber 
ed  nor  slept.  She  completed  the  Jewish  Faith,  and  also  pre 
pared  Home  Influence  for  the  press,  though  very  unfit  to 
have  taxed  her  powers  so  far.  Her  medical  attendant  be 
came  urgent  for  total  change  of  air  and  scene,  and  again 
strongly  interdicted  all  mental  exertion — a  trip  to  Frankfort, 
to  visit  her  elder  brother,  was  therefore  decided  on.  In 
June,  1847,  she  set  out,  and  bore  the  journey  without  suffer 
ing  nearly  so  much  as  might  have  been  expected.  Her  hopes 
were  high,  her  spirits  raised — the  novelty  and  interest  of  her 
first  travels  on  the  Continent  gave  her  for  a  very  transient  pe 
riod  a  gleam,  as  it  were,  of  strength.  For  a  week  or  two  she 
appeared  to  rally,  then  again  every  exertion  became  too  much 
for  her,  every  stimulating  remedy  to  exhaust  her.  She  was 


MEMOlll    OF    GRACE    AGU1LAR.  XI 

ordered  from  Frankfort  to  try  the  baths  and  mineral  waters 
of  Schwalbach,  but  without  success.  After  a  stay  of  six 
weeks,  and  persevering  with  exemplary  patience  in  the  treat 
ment  prescribed,  she  was  one  night  seized  with  alarming  con 
vulsive  spasms,  so  terrible  that  her  family  removed  her  next 
morning  with  all  speed  back  to  Frankfort,  to  the  house  of  a 
family  of  most  kind  friends,  where  every  attention  and  care 
was  lavishly  bestowed. 

In  vain.  She  took  to  her  bed  the  very  day  of  her  arri 
val,  and  never  rose  from  it  again ;  she  became  daily  weaker, 
and  in  three  weeks  from  that  time  her  sufferings  ceased  for 
ever.  She  was  perfectly  conscious  to  within  less  than  two 
hours  before  her  death,  and  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her 
mother  and  brother.  Speech  had  been  a  matter  of  difficulty 
for  some  time  previous,  her  throat  being  greatly  affected  by 
her  malady ;  but  she  had,  in  consequence,  learned  to  use  her 
fingers  in  the  manner  of  the  deaf  and  dumb,  and  almost  the 
last  time  they  moved,  it  was  to  spell  upon  them  feebly, 
"  Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him." 

She  was  buried  in  the  cemetery  of  Frankfort,  one  side  of 
which  is  set  apart  for  the  people  of  her  faith.  The  stone 
which  marks  the  spot  bears  upon  it  a  butterfly  and  five  stars, 
emblematic  of  the  soul  in  heaven,  and  beneath  appears  the 
inscription — 

"  Give  her  of  the  fruit  of  her  hands,  and  let  her  own  works  praise 
her  in  the  gates." — Prov.  ch.  xxxi,  v.  31. 

And  thus,  16th  September,  1847,  at  the  early  age  of  thir 
ty-one,  Grace  Aguilar  was  laid  to  rest — the  bowl  was  broken, 
the  silver  cord  was  loosed.  Her  life  was  short  and  checkered 
with  pain  and  anxiety,  but  she  strove  hard  to  make  it  useful 
and  valuable,  by  employing  diligently  and  faithfully  the  tal 
ents  with  which  she  had  been  endowed.  Nor  did  the  serious 
view  with  which  she  ever  regarded  earthly  existence,  induce 


Xll  MEMOIR   OF    GRACE   AGU1LAR. 

her  to  neglect  or  despise  any  occasion  of  enjoyment,  advan 
tage,  or  sociality  which  presented  itself.  Her  heart  was 
ever  open  to  receive,  her  hand  to  give. 

Inasmuch  as  she  succeeded  to  the  satisfaction  of  her  fel 
low  beings,  let  them  be  grateful ;  inasmuch  as  she  failed,  let 
those  who  perceive  it  deny  her  not  the  meed  of  praise,  for 
her  endeavor  to  open  the  path  she  believed  would  lead  man 
kind  to  practical  virtue  and  happiness,  and  strive  to  carry  out 
the  pure  philanthropic  principles  by  which  she  was  actuated, 
and  which  she  so  earnestly  endeavored  to  diffuse. 

OCTOBER,  1849. 


THE  VALE  OF  CEDARS; 

OR, 

THE  MAETYK. 

CHAPTER  I. 

"  They  had  met,  and  they  had  parted ; 
Time  had  closed  o'er  each  again, 
Leaving  lone  the  weary  hearted 
Mournfully  to  wear  his  chain." — MS. 

A  JDELTCIOUSLY  cool,  still  evening,  had  succeeded  the  intense 
heat  of  a  Spanish  summer  day,  throwing  rich  shadows  and 
rosy  gleams  on  a  wild,  rude  mountain  pass  in  central  Spain. 
Massive  crags  and  gigantic  trees  seemed  to  contest  dominion 
over  the  path,  if  path  it  could  be  called ;  where  the  traveller, 
if  he  would  persist  in  going  onwards,  could  only  make  his 
way  by  sometimes  scrambling  over  rocks,  whose  close  ap 
proach  from  opposite  sides  presented  a  mere  fissure  covered 
with  flowers  and  brushwood,  through  which  the  slimmest 
figure  would  fail  to  penetrate;  sometimes  wading  through 
rushing  and  brawling  streams,  whose  rapid  currents  bore 
many  a  jagged  branch  and  craggy  fragment  along  with  them ; 
sometimes  threading  the  intricacies  of  a  dense  forest,  recog 
nizing  the  huge  pine,  the  sweet  acorn  oak,  the  cork  tree,  in 
terspersed  with  others  of  lesser  growth,  but  of  equally  wild 
perplexing  luxuriance.  On  either  side — at  times  so  close 
that  two  could  not  walk  abreast,  at  others  so  divided  that 
forests  and  streams  intervened — arose  mountain  walls  seem- 


14  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS, 

ing  to  reach  the  very  heavens,  their  base  covered  with  treea 
and  foliage,  which  gradually  thinning,  left  their  dark  heads 
totally  barren,  coming  out  in  clear  relief  against  the  deep 
blue  sky. 

That  this  pass  led  to  any  inhabited  district  was  little 
probable,  for  it  grew  wilder  and  wilder,  appearing  to  lead  to 
the  very  heart  of  the  Sierra  Toledo — a  huge  ridge  travers 
ing  Spain.  By  human  foot  it  had  evidently  been  seldom 
trod  ;  yet  on  this  particular  evening  a  traveller  there  wended 
his  solitary  way.  His  figure  was  slight  to  boyishness,  but  of 
fair  proportion,  and  of  such  graceful  agility  of  movement, 
that  the  obstacles  in  his  path,  which  to  others  of  stouter 
mould  and  heavier  step  might  have  been  of  serious  inconve 
nience,  appeared  by  him  as  unnoticed  as  unfelt.  The  deep 
plume  of  his  broad-rimmed  hat  could  not  conceal  the  deep 
blue  restless  eyes,  the  delicate  complexion,  and  ricli  brown 
clustering  hair ;  the  varying  expression  of  features,  which  if 
not  regularly  handsome,  were  bright  with  intelligence  and 
truth,  and  betraying  like  a  crystal  mirror  every  impulse  of 
the  heart — characteristics  both  of  feature  and  disposition 
wholly  dissimilar  to  the  sons  of  Spain. 

His  physiognomy  told  truth.  Arthur  Stanley  was,  as  his 
name  implied,  an  Englishman  of  noble  family  ;  one  of  the 
many  whom  the  disastrous  wars  of  the  Roses  had  rendered 
voluntary  exiles.  His  father  and  four  brothers  had  fallen 
in  battle  at  Margaret's  side.  Himself  and  a  twin  brother, 
when  scarcely  fifteen,  were  taken  prisoners  at  Towkesbury, 
and  for  three  years  left  to  languish  in  prison.  Wishing  to 
conciliate  the  still  powerful  family  of  Stanley,  Edward  offer 
ed  the  youths  liberty  and  honor  if  they  would  swear  allegi 
ance  to  himself.  They  refused  peremptorily;  and  with  a 
refinement  of  cruelty  more  like  Richard  of  Gloucester  than 
himself,  Edward  ordered  one  to  the  block,  the  other  to  per 
petual  imprisonment.  They  drew  lots,  and  Edwin  Stanley 
perished.  Arthur,  after  an  interval,  succeeded  in  effecting 
his  escape,  and  fled  from  England,  lingered  in  Provence  a 
few  months,  and  then  unable  to  bear  an  inactive  life,  hasten 
ed  to  the  Court  of  Arragon ;  to  the  heir  apparent  of  which, 
he  bore  letters  of  introduction,  from  men  of  rank  and  influ 
ence,  and  speedily  distinguished  himself  in  the  wars  then 
agitating  Spain.  The  character  of  the  Spaniards — impene- 


OR,    THE    MARTYR  15 

trable  and  haughty  reserve — occasioned,  in  general,  prejudice 
and  dislike  towards  all  foreigners.  But  powerful  as  was 
their  pride,  so  was  their  generosity;  and  the  young  and  lone 
ly  stranger,  who  had  thrown  himself  so  trustingly  and  frankly 
on  their  friendship,  was  universally  received  with  kindness 
and  regard.  In  men  of  lower  natures,  indeed,  prejudice  still 
lingered;  but  this  was  of  little  matter;  Arthur  speedily  took 
his  place  among  the  noblest  chivalry  of  Spain ;  devoted  to 
the  interests  of  the  King  of  Sicily,  but  still  glorying  in  the 
name  and  feeling  of  an  Englishman,  he  resolved,  in  his  young 
enthusiasm,  to  make  his  country  honored  in  himself. 

He  had  been  five  years  in  Spain,  and  was  now  four  and 
twenty ;  but  few  would  have  imagined  him  that  age,  so  frank 
and  free  and  full  of  thoughtless  mirth  and  hasty  impulse  was 
his  character.  These  last  fifteen  months,  however,  a  shadow 
seemed  to  have  fallen  over  him,  not  deep  enough  to  create 
remark,  but/eft  by  himself.  His  feelings,  always  ardent,  had 
been  all  excited,  and  were  all  concentrated,  on  a  subject  so 
wrapt  in  mystery,  that  the  wish  to  solve  it  engrossed  his 
whole  being.  Except  when  engaged  in  the  weary  stratagem, 
the  rapid  march,  and  actual  conflict,  necessary  for  Ferdi 
nand's  interest,  but  one  thought,  composed  of  many,  occu 
pied  his  mind,  and  in  solitude  so  distractingly,  that  he  could 
never  rest;  he  would  traverse  the  country  for  miles,  con 
scious  indeed  of  what  he  sought,  but  perfectly  unconscious 
where  he  ivent. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  moods  he  had  entered  the 
pass  we  have  described,  rejoicing  in  its  difficulties,  but  not 
thinking  where  it  led,  or  what  place  he  sought,  when  a 
huge  crag  suddenly  rising  almost  perpendicularly  before 
him,  effectually  roused  him  from  his  trance.  Outlet  there 
was  none.  All  around  him  towered  mountains,  reaching  to 
the  skies.  The  path  was  so  winding,  that,  as  he  looked  round 
bewildered,  he  could  not  even  imagine  how  he  came  there. 
To  retrace  his  steps,  seemed  quite  as  difficult  as  to  proceed, 
The  sun  too  had  declined,  or  was  effectually  concealed  by  the 
towering  rocks,  for  sudden  jdarkness  seemed  around  him. 
There  was  but  one  way,  and  Stanley  prepared  to  scale  the 
precipitous  crag  before  him  with  more  eagerness  than  he 
would  a  beaten  path.  He  threw  off  his  cloak,  folded  it  in 
the  smallest  possible  compass,  and  secured  it  like  a  knapsack 


16  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS. 

to  his  shoulders,  slung  his  sword  over  his  neck,  and,  with  a 
vigorous  spring,  which  conquered  several  paces  of  slippery 
rock  at  once,  commenced  the  ascent.  Some  brushwood,  and 
one  or  two  stunted  trees,  gave  him  now  and  then  a  hold  for 
his  hands ;  and  occasional  ledges  in  the  rock,  a  resting  for 
his  foot ;  but  still  one  false  step,  one  failing  nerve,  and  he 
must  have  fallen  backwards  and  been  dashed  to  pieces  ;  but 
to  Arthur  the  danger  was  his  safety.  Where  he  was  going,  in 
deed  he  knew  not.  He  could  see  no  further  than  the  sum 
mit  of  the  crag,  which  appeared  like  a  line  against  the  sky ; 
but  any  bewilderment  were  preferable  to  the  straige  stagna 
tion  towards  outward  objects,  which  had  enwrapped  him  ten 
minutes  before. 

Panting,  breathless,  almost  exhausted,  he  reached  the 
summit,  and  before  him  yawned  a  chasm,  dark,  fathomless, 
as  if  nature  in  some  wild  convulsion  had  rent  the  rock  asun 
der.  The  level  ground  on  which  he  stood  was  barely  four 
feet  square  ;  behind  him  sloped  the  most  precipitous  side  of 
the  crag,  devoid  of  tree  or  bush,  and  slippery  from  the  con 
stant  moisture  that  formed  a  deep  black  pool  at  its  base. 
Stanley  hazarded  but  one  glance  behind,  then  looked  stea 
dily  forward,  till  his  eye  seemed  accustomed  to  the  width  of 
the  chasm,  which  did  not  exceed  three  feet.  He  fixed  his 
hold  firmly  on  a  blasted  trunk  growing  within  the  chasm ; 
It  shook — gave  way — another  moment  and  he  would  have 
been  lost ;  but  in  that  moment  he  loosed  his  hold,  clasped 
both  hands  above  his  head,  and  successfully  made  the  leap — . 
aware  only  of  the  immense  effort  by  the  exhaustion  which 
followed  compelling  him  to  sink  down  on  the  grass,  deprived 
even  of  energy  to  look  around  him. 

So  marvellous  was  the  change  of  scenery  on  which  his 
eyes  unclosed,  that  he  started  to  his  feet,  bewildered.  A  gra 
dual  hill,  partly  covered  with  rich  meadow  grass,  and  partly 
with  corn,  diversified  with  foliage,  sloped  downwards,  leading 
by  an  easy  descent  to  a  small  valley,  where  orange  and  lime 
trees,  the  pine  and  chestnut,  palm  and  cedar,  grew  in  beauti 
ful  luxuriance.  On  the  left  was  a  small  dwelling,  almost  hid 
den  in  trees.  Directly  beneath  him  a  natural  fountain  threw 
its  sparkling  showers  on  beds  of  sweet-scented  and  gayly- 
colored  flowers.  The  hand  of  man  had  very  evidently  aided 
nature  in  forming  the  wild  yet  chaste  beauty  of  the  scene ; 


17 

and  Arthur  bounded  down  the  slope,  disturbing  a  few  tame 
sheep  and  goats  on  his  way,  determined  on  discovering  the 
genius  of  the  place. 

No  living  object  was  visible,  however ;  and  with  his  usual 
reckless  spirit,  ho  resolved  on  exploring  further,  ere  he  de 
manded  the  hospitality  of  the  dwelling.  A  narrow  path  led 
into  a  thicker  wood,  and  in  the  very  heart  of  its  shade  stood 
a  small  edifice,  the  nature  of  which  Arthur  vainly  endeavor 
ed  to  understand.  It  was  square,  and  formed  of  solid  blocks 
of  cedar  ;  neither  carving  nor  imagery  of  any  kind  adorned 
it ;  yet  it  had  evidently  been  built  with  skill  and  care.  There 
was  neither  tower  nor  bell,  the  usual  accompaniments  of  a 
chapel,  which  Stanley  had  at  first  imagined  it ;  and  he  stood 
gazing  on  it  more  and  more  bewildered.  At  that  moment,  a 
female  voice  of  singular  and  thrilling  beauty  sounded  from 
within.  It  was  evidently  a  hymn  she  chanted,  for  the  strain 
was  slow  and  solemn,  but  though  words  were  distinctly  in 
telligible,  their  language  was  entirely  unknown.  The  young 
man  listened  at  first,  conscious  only  of  increasing  wonder 
ment,  which  was  quickly  succeeded  by  a  thrill  of  hope,  so 
strange,  so  engrossing,  that  he  stood,  outwardly  indeed  as  if 
turned  to  stone;  inwardly,  with  every  pulse  so  throbbing  that 
to  move  or  speak  was  impossible.  The  voice  ceased  ;  and  in 
another  minute  a  door,  so  skilfully  constructed  as  when 
closed  to  be  invisible  in  the  solid  wall,  opened  noiselessly ; 
and  a  female  figure  stood  before  him. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Farewell !  though  in  that  sound  be  years 
Of  blighted  hopes  and  fruitless  tears— 
Though  the  soul  vibrate  to  its  knel) 
Of  joys  departed— yet  farewell." 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

To  attempt  description  of  either  face  or  form  would  be  use 
less.  The  exquisite  proportions  of  the  rounded  figure,  the 
very  perfection  of  each  feature,  the  delicate  clearness  of  the 


18 

complexion — brunette  when  brought  in  close  contact  with  the 
Saxon,  blonde  when  compared  with  the  Spaniard — all  attrac 
tions  in  themselves,  were  literally  forgotten,  or  at  least  un 
heeded,  beneath  the  spell  which  dwelt  in  the  expression  of 
her  countenance.  Truth,  purity,  holiness,  something  scarce 
ly  of  this  nether  world,  yet  blended  indescribably  with  all  a 
woman's  nature,  had  rested  there,  attracting  the  most  unob 
servant,  and  riveting  all  whose  own  hearts  contained  a  spark 
of  the  same  lofty  attributes.  Her  dress,  too,  was  peculiar 
— a  full  loose  petticoat  of  dark  blue  silk,  reaching  only  to  the 
ankle,  and  so  displaying  the  beautifully-shaped  foot ;  a  jack 
et  of  pale  yellow,  the  texture  seeming  of  the  finest  woven 
wool,  reaching  to  the  throat ;  with  sleeves  tight  on  the  shoul 
ders,  but  falling  in  wide  folds  as  low  as  the  wrist,  and  so  with 
every  movement  displaying  the  round  soft  arm  beneath.  An 
antique  brooch  of  curiously  wrought  silver  confined  the  jack 
et  at  the  throat.  The  collar,  made  either  to  stand  up  or  fall, 
was  this  evening  unclosed  and  thrown  black,  its  silver  fringe 
gleaming  through  the  clustering  tresses  that  fell  in  all  their 
native  richness  and  raven  blackness  over  her  shoulders,  part 
ed  and  braided  on  her  brow,  so  as  to  heighten  the  chaste  and 
classic  expression  of  her  features. 

On  a  stranger  that  beautiful  vision  must  have  burst  with 
bewildering  power :  to  Arthur  Stanley  she  united  memory 
with  being,  the  past  with  the  present,  with  such  an  intensity 
of  emotion,  that  for  a  few  minutes  his  very  breath  was  im 
peded.  She  turned,  without  seeing  him,  in  a  contrary  direc 
tion  ;  and  the  movement  roused  him. 

"  Marie  !"  he  passionately  exclaimed,  flinging  himself  di 
rectly  in  her  path,  and  startling  her  so  painfully,  that  though 
there  was  a  strong  and  visible  effort  at  self-control,  she  must 
have  fallen  had  he  not  caught  her  in  his  arms.  There  was 
an  effort  to  break  from  his  hold,  a  murmured  exclamation, 
in  which  terror,  astonishment,  and  yet  joy.  were  painfully 
mingled,  and  then  the  heroine  gave  place  to  the  woman,  for 
her  head  sunk  on  his  shoulder  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

Time  passed.  Nearly  an  hour  from  that  strange  meet 
ing,  and  still  they  were  together ;  but  no  joy,  nor  even  hope 
was  on  the  countenance  of  either.  At  first,  Arthur  had  al- 
Inded  to  their  hours  of  happy  yet  unconfesscd  affection,  when 
'">tli  had  felt,  intuitively,  that  they  were  all  in  all  to  each 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  19 

jther,  though  not  a  syllable  of  love  had  passed  their  lips ;  on 
the  sweet  memories  of  those  blissful  hours,  so  brief,  so  fleet 
ing,  but  still  Marie  wept :  the  memory  seemed  anguish  more 
than  joy.  And  then  he  spoke  of  returned  affection,  as  avow 
ed  by  her,  when  his  fond  words  had  called  it  forth  ;  and  shud 
dered  at  the  recollection  that  that  hour  of  acknowledged  and 
mutual  love,  had  proved  the  signal  of  their  separation  He 
referred  again  to  her  agonized  words,  that  a  union  was  impos 
sible,  that  she  dared  not  wed  him ;  it  was  sin  even  to  love 
him  ;  that  in  the  tumultuary,  yet  delicious  emotions  she  had 
experienced,  she  had  forgotten,  utterly  forgotten  in  what  it 
must  end — the  agony  of  desolation  for  herself,  and,  if  he  so 
loved  her,  for  Stanley  also — and  again  he  conjured  her  to  ex 
plain  their  meaning.  They  had  been  separated,  after  that 
fearful  interview,  by  a  hasty  summons  for  him  to  rejoin  his 
camp  ;  and  when  he  returned,  she  had  vanished.  He  could 
not  trace  either  her  or  the  friend  with  whom  she  had  been 
staying.  Don  Albert  had  indeed  said,  his  wife  had  gone  to 
one  of  the  southern  cities,  and  his  young  guest  returned  to 
her  father's  home  ;  but  where  that  home  was,  Don  Albert 
had  so  effectually  evaded,  that  neither  direct  questionings 
nor  wary  caution  could  obtain  reply.  But  he  had  found  her 
now ;  they  had  met  once  more,  and  oh,  why  need  they  part 
again  ?  Why  might  he  not  seek  her  father,  and  beseech  his 
blessing  and  consent  ? 

His  words  were  eloquent,  his  tone  impassioned,  and  hard 
indeed  the  struggle  they  occasioned.  But  Marie  wavered  not 
in  the  repetition  of  the  same  miserable  truth,  under  the  im 
pression  of  which  they  had  separated  before.  She  conjured 
him  to  leave  her,  to  forget  the  existence  of  this  hidden  valley, 
for  danger  threatened  her  father  and  herself  if  it  was  discov 
ered.  So  painful  was  her  evident  terror,  that  Arthur  pledged 
his  honor  never  to  reveal  it,  declaring  that  to  retrace  the  path 
by  which  he  had  discovered  it,  was  even  to  himself  impossi 
ble.  But  still  he  urged  her,  what  was  this  fatal  secret?  Why 
was  it  sin  to  love  him?  Was  she  the  betrothed  of  another? 
and  the  large  drops  starting  to  the  young  man's  brow  de 
noted  the  agony  of  the  question. 

"  No,  Arthur,  no,"  was  the  instant  rejoinder  :  "  I  never 
could  love,  never  could  be  another's,  this  trial  is  hard  enough. 


20 


THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS  J 


but  it  is  all  I  have  to  bear.  I  am  not  called  upon  to  give 
my  hand  to  another,  while  my  heart  is  solely  thine." 

"  Then  wherefore  join  that  harsh  word  '  sin,'  with  such 
pure  love,  my  Marie  ?  Why  send  me  from  you  wretched  and 
most  lonely,  when  no  human  power  divides  us  ?" 

"  No  human  power  ! — alas  !  alas  ! — a  father's  curse— an 
offended  God — these  are  too  awful  to  encounter,  Arthur.  Oh 
do  not  try  me  more ;  leave  me  to  my  fate,  called  down  by  my 
own  weakness,  dearest  Arthur.  If  you  indeed  love  me,  tempt 
me  not  by  such  fond  words;  they  do  but  render  duty  harder. 
Oh,  wherefore  have  you  loved  me  !" 

But  such  suffering  tone,  such  broken  words,  ivere  not 
likely  to  check  young  Stanley's  solicitations.  Again  and 
again  he  urged  her,  at  least  to  say  what  fatal  secret  so  di 
vided  them ;  did  he  but  know  it,  it  might  be  all  removed. 
Marie  listened  to  him  for  several  minutes,  with  averted  head 
and  in  unbroken  silence ;  and  when  she  did  look  on  him 
again,  he  started  at  her  marble  paleness  and  the  convulsive 
quivering  of  her  lips,  which  for  above  a  minute  prevented  the 
utterance  of  a  word. 

"  Be  it  so,"  she  said  at  length ;  "  you  shall  know  this  im 
passable  barrier.  You  are  too  honorable  to  reveal  it.  Alas ! 
it  is  not  that  fear  which  restrained  me ;  my  own  weakness 
which  shrinks  from  being  to  thee  as  to  other  men,  were  the 
truth  once  known,  an  object  of  aversion  and  of  scorn." 

"  Aversion !  scorn !  Marie,  thou  ravest,"  impetuously  ex 
claimed  Stanley;  "torture  me  not  by  these  dark  words:  the 
worst  cannot  be  more  suffering." 

But  when  the  words  were  said,  when  with  blanched  lips 
and  cheeks,  and  yet  unfaltering  tone,  Marie  revealed  the  se 
cret  which  was  to  separate  them  for  ever.  Arthur  staggered 
back,  relinquishing  the  hands  he  had  so  fondly  clasped,  cast 
ing  on  her  one  look  in  which  love  and  aversion  were  strange 
ly  and  fearfully  blended,  and  then  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands,  his  whole  frame  shook  as  with  some  sudden  and  irre 
pressible  anguish. 

"  Thou  knowest  all,  now,"  continued  Marie,  after  a  pause, 
and  she  stood  before  him  with  arms  folded  on  her  bosom, 
and  an  expression  of  meek  humility  struggling  with  misery 
on  her  beautiful  features.  "  Senor  Stanley,  I  need  not  now 
implore  you  to  leave  me;  that  look  was  sufficient,  say  but 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  21 

you  forgive  the  deception  I  have  been  compelled  to  practise 
— and — and  forget  me.  Remember  what  I  am,  and  you  will 
soon  cease  to  love." 

"  Never,  never !"  replied  Stanley,  as  with  passionate  ago 
ny  he  flung  himself  before  her.  "  Come  with  me  to  my  own 
bright  land;  who  shall  know  what  thou  art  there?  Marie, 
my  own  beloved,  be  mine.  What  to  me  is  race  or  blood?  I 
see  but  the  Marie  I  have  loved,  I  shall  ever  love.  Come  with 
me.  Edward  has  made  overtures  of  peace  if  I  would  return 
to  England.  For  thy  sake  I  will  live  beneath  his  sway ;  be 
but  mine,  and  oh,  we  shall  be  happy  yet." 

"  And  my  father,"  gasped  the  unhappy  girl,  for  the  gene 
rous  nature  of  Arthur's  love  rendered  her  trial  almost  too 
severe.  "Wilt  thou  protect  him  too?  wilt  thou  for  my  sake 
forget  what  he  is,  and  be  to  him  a  son?"  He  turned  from 
her  with  a  stifled  groan.  "  Thou  canst  not — I  knew  it — oh 
bless  thee  for  thy  generous  love ;  but  tempt  me  no  more, 
Arthur;  it  cannot  be;  I  dare  not  be  thy  bride" 

"  And  yet  thou  speakest  of  love.  'Tis  false,  thou  canst 
not  love  me,"  and  Stanley  sprung  to  his  feet  disappointed, 
wounded,  till  he  scarce  knew  what  he  said.  "  I  would  give 
up  Spain  and  her  monarch's  love  for  thee.  I  would  live  in 
slavery  beneath  a  tyrant's  rule  to  give  thee  a  home  of  love. 
I  would  forget,  trample  on,  annihilate  the  prejudices  of  a  life, 
unite  the  pure  blood  of  Stanley  with  the  darkened  torrent 
running  through  thy  veins,  forget  thy  race,  descent,  all  but 
thine  own  sweet  self.  I  would  do  this,  all  this  for  love  of 
thee.  And  for  me,  what  wilt  thou  do? — reject  me,  bid  me 
leave  thee — and  yet  thou  speakest  of  love:  'tis  false,  thou 
lovest  another  better !" 

"  Ay !"  replied  Marie,  in  a  tone  which  startled  him,  "  ay, 
thou  hast  rightly  spoken ;  thy  words  have  recalled  what  in 
this  deep  agony  I  had  well  nigh  forgotten.  There  is  a  love, 
a  duty  stronger  than  that  I  bear  to  thee.  I  would  resign  all 
else,  but  not  my  father's  God." 

The  words  were  few  and  simple ;  but  the  tone  in  which 
they  were  spoken  recalled  Arthur's  better  nature,  and  ban 
ished  hope  at  once.  A  pause  ensued,  broken  only  by  the 
young  man's  hurried  tread,  as  he  traversed  the  little  plat 
form  in  the  vain  struggle  for  calmness.  On  him  this  blow 
had  fallen  wholly  unprepared  j  Marie  had  faced  it  from  the 


22 

moment  they  had  parted  fifteen  months  before,  and  her  only 
prayer  had  been  (a  fearful  one  for  a  young  and  loving  heart), 
that  Stanley  would  forget  her,  and  they  might  never  meet 
again.  But  this  was  not  to  be ;  and  though  she  had  believed 
herself  prepared,  one  look  on  his  face,  one  sound  of  his  voice 
had  proved  how  vain  had  been  her  dream. 

"  I  will  obey  thee,  Marie,"  Stanley  said,  at  length,  paus 
ing  before  her.  "  I  will  leave  thee  now,  but  not — not  for 
ever.  No,  no ;  if  indeed  thou  lovest  me  time  will  not  change 
thee,  if  thou  hast  one  sacred  tie,  when  nature  severs  that,  and 
thou  art  alone  on  earth,  thou  shalt  be  mine,  whatever  be  thy 
race." 

"  Hope  it  not,  ask  it  not !  Oh,  Arthur,  better  thou 
shouldst  hate  me,  as  thy  people  do  my  race :  I  cannot  bear 
such  gentle  words,"  faltered  poor  Marie,  as  her  head  sunk 
for  a  minute  on  his  bosom,  and  the  pent-up  tears  burst  forth. 
'•  But  this  is  folly,"  she  continued,  forcing  back  the  choking 
sob,  and  breaking  from  his  passionate  embrace.  "  There  is 
danger  alike  for  my  father  and  thee,  if  thou  tarriest  longer. 
Not  that  way,"  she  added,  as  his  eye  glanced  inquiringly  to 
wards  the  hill  by  which  he  had  descended;  "there  is  another 
and  an  easier  path ;  follow  me — thou  wilt  not  betray  it  ?" 

"  Never!"  was  the  solemn  rejoinder,  and  not  a  word  more 
passed  between  them.  He  followed  her  through  what  seemed 
to  be  an  endless  maze,  and  paused  before  a  towering  rock, 
which,  smooth  and  perpendicular  as  a  wall  built  by  man,  ran 
round  the  vale  and  seemed  to  reach  to  heaven.'  Pushing 
aside  the  thick  brushwood,  Marie  stood  beside  the  rock,  and 
by  some  invisible  movement,  a  low  door  flew  open  and  dis 
closed  a  winding  staircase. 

"  Thou  wilt  trust  me,  Arthur?" 

"  Ay,  unto  death,"  he  answered,  springing  after  her  up 
the  rugged  stair.  Narrow  loopholes,  almost  concealed  with 
out  by  trees  and  brushwood,  dimly  lighted  the  staircase,  as 
also  a  low,  narrow  passage,  which  branched  off  in  zig-zag 
windings  at  the  top,  and  terminated,  as  their  woody  path 
had  done,  in  a  solid  wall.  But  again  an  invisible  door  flew 
open,  closing  behind  them ;  and  after  walking  about  a  hun 
dred  yards  through  prickly  shrubs  and  entangled  brushwood 
that  obscured  his  sight,  Marie  paused,  and  Arthur  gazed 
round  bewildered.  A  seemingly  boundless  plain  stretched 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  23 

for  miles  around  him,  its  green  level  only  diversified  by  rocks 
scattered  about  in  huge  masses  and  wild  confusion,  as  if 
hurled  in  fury  from  some  giant's  hand.  The  rock  whence  he 
had  issued  was  completely  invisible.  He  looked  around  again 
and  again,  but  only  to  bewilder  himself  yet  more. 

"  The  way  looks  more  dreary  than  it  is.  Keep  to  the 
left :  though  it  seems  the  less  trodden  path  thou  wilt  find 
there  a  shelter  for  the  night,  and  to-morrow's  sun  will  soon 
guide  thee  to  a  frontier  town  ;  thy  road  will  be  easy  then. 
Night  is  falling  so  fast  now,  thou  hadst  best  not  linger,  Ar 
thur." 

But  he  did  linger,  till  once  more  he  had  drawn  from  her 
a  confession  of  her  love,  that  none  other  could  take  his  place, 
even  while  she  conjured  him  never  to  seek  her  again — and 
so  they  parted.  Five  minutes  more,  and  there  was  not  a 
vestige  of  a  human  form  on  the  wide-extended  plain. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Now  History  unfolds  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  Time." 

CLEARLY  to  comprehend  the  internal  condition  of  Spain  at 
the  period  of  our  narrative  (1479) — a  condition  which,  though 
apparently  purely  national,  had  influence  over  every  domes 
tic  hearth — it  is  necessary  to  glance  back  a  few  years.  The 
various  petty  Sovereignties  into  which  Spain  had  been  divi 
ded  never  permitted  any  lengthened  period  of  peace  ;  but 
these  had  at  length  merged  into  two  great  kingdoms,  under 
the  names  of  Arragon  and  Castile.  The  form  of  both  gov 
ernments  was  monarchical ;  but  the  genius  of  the  former  was 
purely  republican,  and  the  power  of  the  sovereign  so  circum 
scribed  by  the  Junta,  the  Justicia,  and  the  Holy  Brother 
hood,  that  the  vices  or  follies  of  the  monarch  were  of  less 
consequence,  in  a  national  point  of  view,  in  Arragon,  than 
'n  any  other  kingdom.  It  was  not  so  with  Castile.  From 
the  death  of  Henry  the  Third,  in  1404,  a  series  of  foreign 


24  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS ] 

and  civil  disasters  had  plunged  the  kingdom  in  a  state  of 
anarchy  and  misery.  John  the  Second  had  some  virtues  as 
an  individual,  but  none  as  a  king ;  and  his  son  Henry,  who 
succeeded  him  in  1450,  had  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
Governed  as  his  father  had  been,  entirely  by  favorites,  the 
discontent  of  all  classes  of  his  subjects  rapidly  increased  ; 
the  people  were  disgusted  and  furious  at  the  extravagance 
of  the  monarch's  minion  ;  the  nobles,  fired  at  his  insolence ; 
and  an  utter  contempt  of  the  king,  increased  the  virulence 
of  the  popular  ferment.  Unmindful  of  the  disgrace  attend 
ant  on  his  divorce  from  Blanche  of  Navarre,  Henry  sought 
and  obtained  the  hand  of  Joanna,  Princess  of  Portugal, 
whose  ambition  and  unprincipled  intrigues  heightened  the 
ill-favor  with  which  he  was  already  regarded.  The  court  of 
Castile,  once  so  famous  for  chastity  and  honor,  sank  to  the 
lowest  ebb  of  infamy,  the  shadow  of  which,  seeming  to  ex 
tend  over  the  whole  land,  affected  nobles  and  people  with 
its  baleful  influence.  All  law  was  at  an  end :  the  people, 
even  while  they  murmured  against  the  King,  followed  his 
evil  example ;  and  history  shrinks  from  the  scenes  of  de 
bauchery  and  licentiousness,  robbery  and  murder,  which  des 
ecrated  the  land.  But  this  state  of  things  could  not  last 
long,  while  there  still  remained  some  noble  hearts  amongst 
the  Castilians.  Five  years  after  their  marriage,  the  Queen 
was  said  to  have  given  birth  to  a  daughter,  whom  Henry  de 
clared  should  be  his  successor,  in  lieu  of  his  young  brother 
Alfonso  (John's  son,  by  a  second  wife,  Isabella  of  Portugal). 
This  child  the  nobles  refused  to  receive,  believing  and  de 
claring  that  she  was  not  Henry's  daughter,  and  arrogated 
to  themselves  the  right  of  trying  and  passing  sentence  on 
their  Sovereign,  who,  by  his  weak,  flagitious  conduct  had, 
they  unanimously  declared,  forfeited  all  right  even  to  the 
present  possession  of  the  crown. 

The  confederates,  who  were  the  very  highest  and  noblest 
officers  of  the  realm,  assembled  at  Avita,  and  with  a  solem 
nity  and  pomp  which  gave  the  whole  ceremony  an  imposing 
character  of  reality,  dethroned  King  Henry  in  effigy,  and 
proclaimed  the  youthful  Alfonso  sovereign  in  his  stead.  All 
present  swore  fealty,  but  no  actual  good  followed :  the  flame 
of  civil  discord  was  re-lighted,  and  raged  with  yet  greater 
fury ;  continuing  even  after  the  sudden  and  mysterious  death 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  25 

of  the  young  prince,  whose  extraordinary  talent,  amiability, 
and  firmness,  though  only  fourteen,  gave  rise  to  the  rumor 
that  he  had  actually  been  put  to  death  by  his  own  party, 
who  beheld  in  his  rising  genius  the  utter  destruction  of 
their  own  turbulence  and  pride.  Be  this  as  it  may,  his 
death  occasioned  no  cessation  of  hostilities,  the  confederates 
carrying  on  the  war  in  the  name  of  his  sister,  the  Infanta 
Isabella.  Her  youth  and  sex  had  pointed  her  out  as  one 
not  likely  to  interfere  or  check  the  projects  of  popular  am 
bition,  and  therefore  the  very  fittest  to  bring  forward  as  an 
excuse  for  their  revolt.  With  every  appearance  of  humility 
and  deference,  they  offered  her  the  crown  j  but  the  proudest 
and  boldest  shrank  back  abashed,  before  the  flashing  eye 
and  proud  majesty  of  demeanor  with  which  she  answered, 
'<  The  crown  is  not  yours  to  bestow ;  it  is  held  by  Henry,  ac 
cording  to  the  laws  alike  of  God  and  man  ;  and  till  his  death, 
you  have  no  right  to  bestow,  nor  I  to  receive  it."  •$ 

But  though  firm  in  this  resolution,  Isabella  did  not  refuse 
to  coincide  in  their  plans  for  securing  her  succession.  To 
this  measure  Henry  himself  consented,  thus  appearing  tacitly 
to  acknowledge  the  truth  of  the  reports  that  Joanna  was  a 
surreptitious  child,  and  for  a  brief  period  Castile  was  deliv 
ered  from  the  horrors  of  war.  Once  declared  heiress  of 
Castile  and  Leon,  Isabella's  hand  was  sought  by  many  noble 
suitors,  and  her  choice  fell  on  Ferdinand,  the  young  King  of 
Sicily,  and  heir-apparent  to  the  crown  of  Arragon.  Love 
was  Isabella's  incentive.  Prudence,  and  a  true  patriotic  am 
bition,  urged  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo  not  only  to  ratify 
the  choice,  but  to  smooth  every  difficulty  in  their  way ;  he 
saw  at  once  the  glory  which  might  accrue  to  Spain  by  this 
peaceful  union  of  two  rival  thrones.  Every  possible  and 
impossible  obstacle  was  privately  thrown  by  Henry  to  pre 
vent  this  union,  even  while  he  gave  publicly  his  consent ;  his 
prejudice  against  Ferdinand  being  immovable  and  deadly. 
But  the  manoeuvres  of  the  Archbishop  were  more  skilful 
than  those  of  the  King.  The  royal  lovers — for  such  they 
really  were — were  secretly  united  at  Valladolid,  to  reach 
which  place  in  safety  Ferdinand  had  been  compelled  to 
travel  in  disguise,  and  attended  only  by  four  cavaliers ;  and 
at  that  period  so  straitened  were  "the  circumstances  of  tho 
Prince  and  Princess,  wbo  afterwards  possessed  the  boundlos- 
2' 


26  THE   VALE   OF   CEDARS J 

treasures  of  the  ffew  world,  that  they  were  actually  com 
pelled  to  borrow  money  to  defray  the  expenses  of  their  wed 
ding  ! 

The  moment  Henry  became  aware  of  this  marriage,  the 
civil  struggle  recommenced.  In  vain  the  firm,  yet  pacific 
Archbishop  of  Toledo  recalled  the  consent  he  had  given,  and 
Droved  that  the  union  not  only  secured  the  after-gltfry  of 
•Spain,  but  Henry's  present  undisturbed  possession  of  his 
throne.  Urged  on  by  his  wife,  and  his  intriguing  favorite, 
the  Marquis  of  Villena,  who  was  for  ever  changing  sides,  he 
published  a  manifesto,  in  which  he  declared  on  oath  that  he 
believed  Joanna  to  be  his  daughter,  and  proclaimed  her 
heiress  of  Castile.  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  instantly  raised 
an  army,  regardless  of  the  forces  of  Portugal  (to  whose 
monarch  Joanna  had  been  betrothed),  who  were  rapidly  ad 
vancing  to  the  assistance  of  Henry.  Ere,  however,  war  had 
regularly  commenced,  a  brief  respite  was  obtained  by  the 
death  of  Henry,  and  instantly  and  unanimously  Isabella  was 
proclaimed  Queen  of  Leon  and  Castile.  Peace,  however, 
was  not  instantly  regained ;  the  King  of  Portugal  married 
Joanna,  and  resolved  on  defending  her  rights.  Some  skir 
mishing  took  place,  and  at  length  a  long-sustained  conflict 
near  Fero  decided  the  point — Ferdinand  and  the  Castilians 
were  victorious ;  the  King  of  Portugal  made  an  honorable 
retreat  to  his  own  frontiers,  and  the  Marquis  of  Villena,  the 
head  of  the  malcontents,  and  by  many  supposed  to  be  the 
real  father  of  Joanna,  submitted  to  Isabella.  Peace  thus 
dawned  for  Castile  ;  but  it  was  not  till  three  years  after 
wards,  when  Ferdinand  had  triumphed  over  the  enemies  of 
Arragon,  and  succeeded  his  father  as  Sovereign  of  that 
kingdom,  that  any  vigorous  measures  could  be  taken  for  the 
restoration  of  internal  order. 

The  petty  Sovereignties  of  the  Peninsular,  with  the  sole 
exception  of  the  mountainous  district  of  Navarre,  and  the 
Moorish  territories  in  the  south,  were  now  all  united ;  and 
it  was  the  sagacious  ambition  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  to 
render  Spain  as  important  in  the  scale  of  kingdoms  as  any 
other  European  territory ;  and  to  do  this,  they  knew,  de 
manded  as  firm  a  control  over  their  own  subjects,  as  the 
subjection  of  still  harassing  foes. 

Above  a  century  had  elapsed  since  Spain  had  been  ex- 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  27 

posed  to  the  sway  of  weak  or  evil  kings,  and  all  the  conse 
quent  miseries  of  misrule  and  war.  Rapine,  outrage,  and 
murder  had  become  so  frequent  and  unchecked,  as  frequently 
to  interrupt  commerce,  by  preventing  all  communication  be 
tween  one  place  and  another.  The  people  acknowledged  no 
law  but  their  own  passions.  The  nobles  were  so  engrossed 
with  hatred  of  each  other,  and  universal  contempt  of  their 
late  sovereign,  with  personal  ambition  and  general  discontent, 
that  they  had  little  time  or  leisure  to  attend  to  any  but  their 
own  interest.  But  a  very  brief  interval  convinced  both 
nobles  and  people  that  a  new  era  was  dawning  for  them.  In 
the  short  period  of  eighteen  months,  the  wise  administration 
of  Isabella  and  Ferdinand,  had  effected  a  sufficient  change  to 
startle  all  ranks  into  the  conviction  that  their  best  interests 
lay  in  prompt  obedience,  and  in  exerting  themselves  in  their 
several  spheres,  to  second  the  sovereign's  will.  The  chivalrio 
qualities  of  Ferdinand,  his  undoubted  wisdom  and  unwaver 
ing  firmness,  excited  both  love  and  fear;  while  devotion  itself 
is  not  too  strong  a  term  to  express  the  national  feeling  en 
tertained  toward  Isabella.  Her  sweet,  womanly  gentleness, 
blended  as  it  was  with  the  dignity  of  the  sovereign ;  her 
ready  sympathy  in  all  that  concerned  her  people — for  the 
lowest  of  her  subjects ;  doing  justice,  even  if  it  were  the 
proud  noble  who  injured,  and  the  serf  that  suffered — all  was 
so  strange,  yet  fraught  with  such  national  repose,  that  her  in 
fluence  every  year  increased ;  while  every  emotion  of  chivalry 
found  exercise,  and  yet  rest  in  the  heart  of  the  aristocracy  for 
their  Queen ;  her  simple  word  would  be  obeyed,  on  the  in 
stant,  by  men  who  would  have  paused,  and  weighed,  and 
reasoned,  if  any  other — even  Ferdinand  himself — had  spoken. 
Isabella  knew  her  power ;  and  if  ever  sovereign  used  it  for 
the  good,  the  happiness  of  her  people,  that  proud  glory  was 
her  own, 

In  spite  of  the  miserable  condition  of  the  people  during 
the  civil  struggles,  the  wealth  of  Spain  had  not  decreased. 
It  was  protected  and  increased  by  a  class  of  people  whose 
low  and  despised  estate  was,  probably,  their  safeguard — these 
were  the  Jews,  who  for  many  centuries  had,  both  publicly  and 
secretly,  resided  in  Spain.  There  were  many  classes  of  this 
peorle  in  the  land,  scattered  alike  over  Castile,  Leon,  Arragon, 


28  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

Navarre,  and  also  in  the  Moorish  territories ;  some  there  were 
confined  to  the  mystic  learning  and  profound  studies  of  the 
schools,  whence  they  sent  many  deeply  learned  men  to  other 
countries,  where  their  worth  and  wisdom  gained  them  yet 
greater  regard  than  they  received  in  Spain :  others  were  low 
and  degraded  in  outward  seeming,  yet  literally  holding  and 
guiding  the  financial  and  commercial  interests  of  the  king 
dom  ; — whose  position  was  of  the  lowest — scorned  and  hated 
by  the  very  people  who  yet  employed  them,  and  exposed  to 
insult  from  every  class  ;  the  third,  and  by  far  the  largest 
body  of  Spanish  Jews,  were  those  who,  Israelites  in  secret, 
were  so  completely  Catholic  in  seeming,  that  the  court,  the 
camp,  the  council,  even  the  monasteries  themselves,  counted 
them  amongst  them.  And  this  had  been  the  case  for  years 
— we  should  say  for  centuries — and  yet  so  inviolable  was  the 
faith  pledged  to  each  other,  so  awful  the  dangers  around 
them,  were  even  suspicion  excited,  that  the  fatal  secret  never 
transpired ;  offices  of  state,  as  well  as  distinctions  of  honor, 
were  frequently  conferred  on  men  who,  had  their  faith  or 
race  been  suspected,  would  have  been  regarded  as  the  scum 
of  the  earth,  and  sentenced  to  torture  and  death,  for  daring 
to  pass  for  what  they  were  not.  At  the  period  of  which  we 
write,  the  fatal  enemy  to  the  secret  Jews  of  more  modern 
times,  known  as  the  Holy  Office,  did  not  exist ;  but  a  secret 
and  terrible  tribunal  there  was,  whose  power  and  extent  were 
unknown  to  the  Sovereigns  of  the  land. 

The  Inquisition  is  generally  supposed  to  have  been  found 
ed  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  about  the  year  1480  or  '82; 
but  a  deeper  research  informs  us  that  it  had  been  introduced 
into  Spain  several  centuries  earlier,  and  obtained  great  in 
fluence  in  Arragon.  Confiding  in  the  protection  of  the  papal 
see,  the  Inquisitors  set  no  bounds  to  their  ferocity :  secret  in 
formations,  imprisonments,  tortures,  midnight  assassinations, 
marked  their  proceedings  ;  but  they  overreached  themselves. 
All  Spain,  setting  aside  petty  rivalships,  rose  up  against  them. 
All  who  should  give  them  encouragement  or  assistance  were 
declared  traitors  to  their  country;  the  very  lives  of  the  In 
quisitors  and  their  families  were,  in  the  first  burst  of  fury, 
endangered ;  but  after  a  time,  imagining  they  had  sunk  into 
harmless  insignificance,  their  oppressors  desisted  in  their 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  29 

efforts  against  them,  and  were  guilty  of  the  unpardonable 
error  of  not  exterminating  them  entirely.* 

According  to  the  popular  belief,  the  dreaded  tribunal 
slept,  and  so  soundly,  they  feared  not,  imagined  not  its 
awakening.  They  little  knew  that  its  subterranean  halls 
were  established  near  almost  all  the  principal  cities,  and  that 
its  engines  were  often  at  work,  even,  in  the  palaces  of  kings. 
Many  a  family  wept  the  loss  of  a  beloved  member,  they  knew 
not,  guessed  not  how — for  those  who  once  entered  those  fatal 
walls  were  never  permitted  to  depart ;  so  secret  were  their 
measures,  that  even  the  existence  of  this  fearful  mockery  of 
Justice  and  Religion  was  not  known,  or  at  that  time  it  would 
have  been  wholly  eradicated.  Superstition  had  not  then 
gained  the  ascendency  which  in  after  years  so  tarnished  the 
glory  of  Spain,  and  opened  the  wide  gates  to  the  ruin  and 
debasement  under  which  she  labors  now.  The  fierce  wars 
and  revolutions  ravaging  the  land  had  given  too  many,  and 
too  favorable  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  this  secret 
power ;  but  still,  regard  for  their  own  safety  prevented  the 
more  public  display  of  their  office,  as  ambition  prompted. 
The  vigorous  proceedings  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  render 
ed  them  yet  more  wary ;  and  little  did  the  Sovereigns  suspect 
that  in  their  very  courts  this  fatal  power  held  sway.  The 
existence  of  this  tribunal  naturally  increased  the  dangers 
environing  the  Israelites  who  were  daring  enough  to  live 
amongst  the  Catholics  as  one  of  them  ;  but  o'f  this  particular 
danger  they  themselves  were  not  generally  aware,  and  their 
extraordinary  skill  in  the  concealment  of  their  faith  (to  every 
item  of  which  they  yet  adhered)  baffled,  except  in  a  very  few 
instances,  even  these  ministers  of  darkness. 

*  Stockdale's  History  of  the  Inquisition. 


SO  THE    VALE  OF    CEDARS  J 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  In  war  did  never  lion  rage  more  fierce — 
In  peace  was  never  gentle  lamb  more  mild, 
Than  was  that  young  and  princely  gentleman." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  wars  ravaging  Spain  had  nursed  many  a  gallant  war 
rior,  and  given  ample  opportunities  for  the  possession  and 
display  of  those  chivalric  qualities  without  which,  in  that  age, 
no  manly  character  was  considered  perfect.  The  armies  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  counted  some  of  the  noblest  names 
and  most  valiant  knights  of  Christendom.  The  Spanish 
chivalry  had  always  been  famous,  and  when  once  organized 
under  a  leader  of  such  capacity  and  firmness  as  Ferdinand  ; 
when  the  notice  and  regard  of  the  Queen  they  idolized  could 
only  be  obtained  by  manly  virtue  as  well  as  the  warrior's 
ardor,  a  new  spirit  seemed  to  wake  within  them  ;  petty  rival- 
ships  and  jealousies  were  laid  aside,  all  they  sought  was  to 
become  distinguished  ;  and  never  had  chivalry  shone  with  so 
pure  and  glorious  a  lustre  in  the  court  of  Spain  as  then, 
when,  invisibly  and  unconsciously,  it  verged  on  its  decline. 

It  was  amongst  all  this  blaze  of  chivalry  that  Arthur 
Stanley  had  had  ample  opportunity  to  raise,  in  his  own  per 
son,  the  martial  glory  of  his  own  still  much  loved  and  deeply 
regretted  land.  Ferdinand  had  honored  him  with  so  large  a 
portion  of  his  coveted  regard,  that  no  petty  feelings  on  the 
part  of  the  Spaniards,  because  he  was  a  stranger,  could  in 
terfere  with  his  advancement;  his  friends,  however,  were 
mostly  among  the  Arragonese ;  to  Isabella,  and  the  Castili- 
ans,  he  was  only  known  as  a  valiant  young  warrior,  and  a 
marked  favorite  of  the  king.  There  was  one  person,  how 
ever,  whom  the  civil  contentions  of  Spain  had  so  brought  for 
ward,  that  his  name  was  never  spoken,  either  in  council, 
court,  or  camp;  palace  or  hut — by  monarch  or  captive,  soldier 
Or  citizen — without  a  burst  of  such  warm  and  passionate 
attachment  that  it  was  almost  strange  how  any  single  indi 
vidual,  and  comparatively  speaking,  in  a  private  station. 
could  so  have  won  the  hearts  of  thousands.  Yet  it  had  been 


OB,   THE   MARTYR.  31 

gradually  that  tins  pre-eminence  had  been  attained — gradu 
ally,  and  entirely  by  the  worth  of  its  object.  At  the  early 
age  of  sixteen,  and  as  page  to  G-onzalos  de  Lara,  Ferdinand 
Morales  had  witnessed  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  pecu 
liarly  ardent,  though  outwardly  quiet  nature,  the  exciting 
proceedings  at  Avila.  His  youth,  his  dignified  mien,  his 
earnestness,  perhaps  even  his  striking  beauty,  attracted  the 
immediate  attention  of  the  young  Alfonso,  and  a  bond  of 
union  of  reciprocal  affection  from  that  hour  linked  the  youths 
together.  It  is  useless  arguing  on  the  folly  and  frivolity  of 
such  rapid  attachments  ;  there  are  those  with  whom  one  day 
will  be  sufficient,  not  only  to  awaken,  but  to  rivet,  those 
mysterious  sympathies  which  are  the  undying  links  of  friend 
ship  ;  and  others  again,  with  whom  we  may  associate  inti 
mately  for  months — nay,  years — and  yet  feel  we  have  not 
one  thought  in  common,  nor  formed  one  link  to  sever  which 
is  pain. 

During  Alfonso's  brief  career,  Ferdinand  Morales  dis 
played  personal  qualities,  and  a  wisdom  and  faithfulness  in 
his  cause,  well  deserving  not  only  the  prince's  love,  but  the 
confidence  of  all  those  who  were  really  Alfonso's  friends. 
His  deep  grief  and  ill-concealed  indignation  at  the  prince's 
mysteriously  sudden  death  might,  for  the  time,  have  obtained 
him  enemies,  and  endangered  his  own  life  ;  but  the  favor  of 
Isabella,  whom  it  was  then  the  policy  of  the  confederates  to 
conciliate  in  all  things  possible,  protected  and  advanced  him. 
The  love  borne  by  the  Infanta  for  her  young  brother  sur 
passed  even  the  tenderest  affection  of  such  relatives ;  all 
who  had  loved  and  served  him  were  dear  to  her  ;  and  at  a 
time  when  so  much  of  treachery  and  insidious  policy  lurked 
around  her,  even  in  the  garb  of  seeming  devotion  to  her 
cause,  the  unwavering  fidelity  and  straightforward  conduct 
of  Morales,  combined  as  it  was  with  his  deep  affection  for 
Alfonso,  permitted  her  whole  mind  to  rest  on  him,  secure 
not  only  of  his  faithfulness,  but  of  vigilance  which  would 
discover  and  counteract  every  evil  scheming  of  seeming 
friends.  Her  constantly  chosen  messenger  to  Ferdinand,  he 
became  known  and  trusted  by  both  that  prince  and  his  na 
tive  subjects.  His  wealth,  which  seemed  exhaustless,  inde 
pendent  of  his  preferments,  was  ever  at  the  service  of  either 
Isabella  or  her  betrothed  ;  he  it  was  from  whom  the  neces- 


32 

Bary  means  for  her  private  nuptials  were  borrowed.  At  that 
scene  he  was,  of  course,  present,  and,  at  his  own  desire,  es 
corted  Ferdinand  back  to  his  own  domains — an  honorable 
but  most  dangerous  office,  performed  with  his  usual  unwaver 
ing  fidelity  and  skill.  That  one  so  faithful  in  adversity 
should  advance  from  post  to  post  as  soon  as  dawning  pros 
perity  permitted  Isabella  and  Ferdinand  to  reward  merit  af 
well  as  to  evince  gratitude,  was  not  surprising ;  but  no  royai 
favor,  no  coveted  honors,  no  extended  power,  could  alter  one 
tittle  of  his  single-hearted  truth — his  unrestrained  intercourse 
with  and  interest  in  his  equals,  were  they  of  the  church 
court,  or  camp — his  gentle  and  unassuming  manner  to  his 
inferiors.  It  was  these  things  that  made  him  so  universally 
beloved.  The  coldest  natures,  if  thrown  in  contact  with  him, 
unconsciously  to  themselves  kindled  into  warmth  ;  vice  itself 
could  not  meet  the  glance  of  that  piercing  eye  without 
shrinking,  for  the  moment,  in  loathing  from  itself. 

Until  Isabella  and  Ferdinand  were  firmly  established  on 
the  throne,  and  Arragon  and  Castile  united,  there  had  been 
little  leisure  amongst  their  warriors  to  think  of  domestic  ties, 
otherwise  it  might  perhaps  have  been  noticed  as  somewhat 
remarkable  that  Ferdinand  Morales  appeared  to  stand  alone  ; 
kindred,  indeed,  he  claimed  with  four  or  five  of  the  noblest 
amongst  the  Castiiians,  but  he  seemed  to  have  no  near  rela 
tive  ;  and  though  he  mingled  courteously,  and  to  some  young 
hearts  far  too  pleasingly,  amongst  Isabella's  court,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  would  never  stoop  to  love.  The  Queen  often  jested 
him  on  his  apparent  insensibility,  and  entreating  him  to  wed. 
At  first  he  had  smiled  away  such  words ;  but  two  or  three 
months  after  the  commencement  of  our  tale,  he  acknowledged 
that  his  affections  had  been  for  some  years  engaged  to  one 
living  so  completely  in  retirement  as  to  be  unknown  to  all ; 
he  had  but  waited  till  peace  had  dawned  for  Spain,  and  he 
might  offer  her  not  only  his  love,  but  a  secure  and  quiet 
home.  He  spoke  in  confidence,  and  Isabella,  woman-like, 
had  listened  with  no  little  interest,  giving  her  royal  approval 
of  his  choice,  without  knowing  more  than  his  own  words  re 
vealed  ;  but  feeling  convinced,  she  said,  that  Ferdinand 
Morales  would  never  wed  one  whose  birth  or  lineage  would 
tarnish  his  pure  Castilian  blood,  or  endanger  the  holy  faith 
of  which  he  was  so  true  a  member.  A  red  flush  might  have 


OR 


33 


stained  the  cheek  of  the  warrior  at  these  words,  but  the  deep 
obeisance  with  which  he  had  departed  from  the  royal  pres 
ence  concealed  the  unwonted  emotion.  Ere  a  year  from  that 
time  elapsed,  not  only  the  ancient  city  of  Segovia,  where  his 
large  estates  lay,  but  all  Castile  were  thrown  into  a  most 
unusual  state  of  excitement  by  the  marriage  of  the  popular 
idol,  Don  Ferdinand  Morales,  with  a  young  and  marvellously 
lovely  girl,  whom  few,  if  any,  had  ever  seen  before,  and  whose 
very  name,  Donna  Marie  Henriquez,  though  acknowledged 
as  essentially  Castilian,  was  yet  unfamiliar.  The  mystery, 
however,  as  to  who  she  was,  and  where  he  could  have  found 
her,  was  speedily  lost  in  the  universal  admiration  of  her  ex 
ceeding  and  remarkable  loveliness,  and  of  the  new  yet  equally 
attractive  character  which,  as  a  devoted  husband,  Morales 
thenceforward  displayed.  Many  had  imagined  that  he  was 
too  grave,  too  wrapt  in  his  many  engrossing  duties,  alike  as 
statesman  and  general,  ever  to  play  the  lover  ;  and  he  had 
seemed  resolved  that  this  impression  should  remain,  and 
shrunk  from  the  exposure  of  such  sacred  feelings  ;  for  none, 
save  Isabella,  knew  he  loved  until  they  saw  his  bride. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  And  we  have  won  a  bower  of  refuge  now 
In  this  fresh  waste." 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

THE  Yale  of  Cedars,  as  described  in  our  first  chapter,  had 
been  originally  the  work  of  a  single  individual,  who  had 
found  there  a  refuge  and  concealment  from  the  secret  power 
of  the  Inquisition,  from  whose  walls  he  had  almost  miracu 
lously  escaped :  this  individual  was  Julien  Henriquez,  the 
grandfather  of  Marie.  For  five  years  he  remained  conceal 
ed,  working  unaided,  but  successfully,  in  forming  a  comfort 
able  home  and  concealed  retreat,  not  only  for  himself  but  for 
his  family.  Nature  herself  appeared  to  have  marked  the 
spot  as  an  impenetrable  retreat,  and  Julien's  skill  and  ener- 
2* 


34  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

gy  increased  and  strengthened  the  natural  barriers.  During 
these  five  years  the  secret  search  for  his  person,  at  first  car 
ried  on  so  vigilantly  that  his  enemies  supposed  nothing  but 
death  could  have  concealed  him,  gradually  relaxed,  and  then 
subsided  altogether.  Foes  and  friends  alike  believed  him 
dead,  and  when  he  did  re-appear  in  the  coarse  robe,  shroud 
ing  cowl,  and  hempen  belt,  of  a  wandering  friar,  he  traversed 
the  most  populous  towns  in  safety,  unrecognized  and  unsus 
pected.  It  was  with  some  difficulty  he  found  his  family,  and 
a  matter  of  no  little  skill  to  convey  them,  without  exciting 
suspicion  by  their  disappearance,  to  his  retreat ;  but  all  was 
accomplished  at  length,  and  years  of  domestic  felicity  crown 
ed  every  former  effort,  and  inspired  and  encouraged  more. 

Besides  his  own  immediate  family,  consisting  of  his  wife, 
a  son,  and  daughter,  Henriquez  had  the  charge  of  two 
nephews  and  a  niece,  children  of  his  sister,  whose  husband 
had  perished  by  the  arm  of  the  same  secret  power  from  which 
Henriquez  had  escaped ;  their  mother  had  died  of  a  broken 
heart,  from  the  fearful  mystery  of  her  husband's  fate,  and 
the  orphans  were  to  Julien  as  his  own. 

As  years  passed,  the  Vale  of  Cedars  became  not  only  a 
safe,  but  a  luxurious  home.  Every  visit  to  the  world  Julien 
turned  to  profit,  by  the  purchase  first  of  necessaries,  then  of 
luxuries.  The  little  temple  was  erected  by  the  active  aid  of 
the  young  men,  and  the  solemn  rites  of  their  peculiar  faith 
adhered  to  in  security.  Small  as  the  family  was,  deaths, 
marriages,  and  births  took  place,  and  feelings  and  sympathies 
were  excited,  and  struggles  secretly  endured,  making  that 
small  spot  of  earth  in  very  truth  a  world.  The  cousins  inter 
married.  Ferdinand  and  Josephine  left  the  vale  for  a  more 
stirring  life ;  Manuel,  Henriquez's  own  son,  and  Miriam,  his 
niece,  preferred  the  quiet  of  the  vale.  Julien,  his  nephew, 
too,  had  loved  ;  but  his  cousin's  love  was  given  to  his  brother, 
and  he  departed,  unmurmuringly  indeed,  but  he  dared  not 
yet  trust  himself  to  associate  calmly  with  the  object  of  his 
love :  he  had  ever  been  a  peculiarly  sad  and  silent  boy  ;  the 
fate  of  his  father  never  for  an  instant  seemed  to  leave  his 
mind,  and  he  had  secretly  vowed  to  avenge  him.  Love,  for  a 
while,  had  banished  these  thoughts ;  but  when  that  returned 
in  all  the  misery  of  isolation  to  his  own  breast,  former  thoughts. 
>sgamed  dominion,  and  he  tried  to  conquer  the  one  feeling  by 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  35 

thfc  encouragement  of  the  other.  His  brother  and  his  wife 
constantly  visited  the  vale ;  if  at  no  other  time,  almost  al 
ways  at  those  solemn  festivals  which  generally  fell  about  the 
period  of  the  Catholic  Easter  and  Michaelmas  ;  often  accom 
panied  by  faithful  friends,  holding  the  same  mysterious  bond 
of  brotherhood,  and  to  whom  the  secret  of  that  vale  was  as 
precious  and  secure  as  to  its  natural  inmates.  Its  aged  foun 
der  had  frequently  the  happiness  of  gathering  around  him  from 
twenty  to  thirty  of  his  secret  race,  and  of  feeling  that  his 
work  would  benefit  friends  as  well  as  offspring.  Julien 
alone  never  returned  to  the  vale,  and  his  family  at  length 
mourned  him  as  one  amongst  the  dead. 

The  career  of  his  brother  was  glorious  but  brief;  he  fell 
fighting  for  his  country,  and  his  widow  and  young  son  returned 
to  the  parental  retreat.  Though  the  cousins  had  married  the 
same  day,  the  son  of  Ferdinand  was  ten  years  older  than  his 
cousin  Marie ;  Manuel  and  Miriam  having  lived  twelve 
years  together  ere  the  longed-for  treasure  was  bestowed.  At 
first,  therefore,  she  had  been  to  the  youthful  Ferdinand  but 
as  a  plaything,  to  pet  and  laugh  with :  he  left  the  vale  as 
page  to  his  father's  companion  in  arms,  Gonzalos  de  Lara, 
when  Marie  was  little  more  than  five  years  old ;  but  still  his 
love  for  her  and  his  home  was  such  that  whenever  it  was  pos 
sible,  he  would  snatch  if  it  were  but  half  a  day  to  visit  them. 
Gradually,  and  to  him  it  seemed  almost  strangely,  the  play 
thing  child  changed  into  the  graceful  girl,  and  then  again 
into  the  lovely  woman ;  and  dearer  than  ever  became  his  boy 
hood's  home,  though  years  had  snatched  away  so  many  of 
its  beloved  inmates,  that,  at  the  period  of  our  story,  its  sole 
occupants  were  Marie  and  her  father. 

Had  her  mother  lived,  perchance  Marie  had  never  been  ex 
posed  to  the  dangers  of  an  introduction  to  the  world.  Be 
trothed,  in  the  secret  hearts  of  not  only  her  own  parents,  but 
of  Ferdinand's  mother,  to  her  cousin,  if  she  lived  to  attain 
sufficient  age,  Miriam  would  not  have  thought  it  so  impossi 
ble  as  Manuel  did,  that  the  affections  of  his  child  might  be 
sought  for  by,  and  given  to  another,  if  she  mingled  with  the 
world  ;  she  would  at  least  have  waited  till  she  was  Ferdi 
nand's  wedded  wife,  and  then  sent  her  forth  secure.  But  such 
subtle  fears  and  feelings  are  peculiarly  woman's ;  not  the 
*-enderest,  most  devoted  father,  could  of  himself  have  either 


3b  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS ] 

thought  of.  or  understood  them.  He  might  perhaps  have 
owned  their  justice  had  they  been  presented  to  him  by  the 
affectionate  warnings  of  an  almost  idolized  wife ;  but  that 
voice  was  hushed,  her  sweet  counsels  buried  in  the  grave ; 
and  the  fond,  proud  father,  only  thought  of  his  child's  bril 
liant  beauty,  and  how  she  would  be  admired  and  beloved, 
could  she  be  but  generally  known.  And  so,  for  her  sake,  he 
actually  did  violence  to  his  own  love  for  the  quiet  retirement 
of  the  vale,  and  bore  her  to  the  care  of  Donna  Emilie  de  Cas 
tro  ;  seeing  nothing,  feeling  nothing,  but  the  admiration  she 
excited,  and  that  she  was  indeed  the  loveliest  there.  One 
wish  he  had,  and  that  was,  that  his  nephew  could  have  been 
there  likewise ;  but  being  engaged  at  that  time  on  some  impor 
tant  private  business  for  the  Queen,  Ferdinand  did  not  even 
know  that  his  cousin  had  ever  left  the  vale. 

That  his  child's  affections  could  be  excited  towards  any 
but  those  of  her  own  race  was  a  circumstance  so  impossible, 
and  moreover  a  sin  so  fearful,  that  it  never  entered  Manuel's 
mind :  he  knew  not  woman's  nature,  dreamed  not  of  its 
quick  impulses,  its  passionate  yearnings,  its  susceptibility  to 
wards  all  gentle  emotions,  or  he  could  not  have  so  trustingly 
believed  in  the  power  of  her  peculiar  faith  and  creed  to 
guard  her  from  the  danger.  Even  his  dearest  desire  that 
she  should  become  the  wife  o£  her  cousin  she  knew  not ;  for 
the  father  shrunk  from  revealing  it  to  either  his  child  or  ne 
phew,  unless  Ferdinand  loved  and  sought  her  himself.  What 
therefore  had  she  to  warn  her  from  the  precipice  on  which 
she  stood,  when  new,  strange,  yet  most  exquisitely  sweet  emo 
tions  gradually  obtained  possession  of  her  heart  in  her  daily 
intercourse  with  Arthur  Stanley  ?  What  they  were  indeed 
she  knew  not ;  the  word  love  was  never  uttered  by  either ; 
she  only  knew  that  his  presence,  his  voice,  the  pressure  of 
his  hand,  brought  with  it  a  thrilling  sensation  of  intense  hap 
piness,  such  as  she  had  never  known,  never  imagined  before. 
It  was  indeed  but  a  brief  dream,  for  when  he  spoke,  when  he 
besought  her  to  be  his,  then  indeed  she  woke  to  conscious 
ness,  not  only  that  she  loved,  but  of  the  dark  and  fatal  bar 
rier  between  them,  which  no  human  effort  could  o'erleap. 
The  sacrifice  of  race,  of  faith,  of  family,  indeed  might  be 
made  ;  but  to  do  this  never  entered  the  mind  and  heart  of 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  37 

Marie,  so  utterly  was  it  impossible.  To  her  peculiar  feelings 
it  was  sin  enough  thus  to  have  loved. 

Manuel  Henriquez  bore  his  child  back  to  the  vale,  little 
dreaming  of  the  anguish  to  which  his  unguarded  love  had 
exposed  her.  She  had  ever  been  rather  a  pensive  and  gen 
tle  girl,  and  therefore  that  she  should  be  still  serious  was  no 
matter  of  surprise.  For  fifteen  months  she  had  sought  to 
banish  every  dream  of  Arthur,  every  thought  but  that  in  lov 
ing  him  she  had  sinned  against  her  G-od.  Time  and  prayer 
had  in  some  measure  softened  the  first  acute  agony  of  her 
feelings ;  she  thought  she  was  conquering  them  altogether, 
when  his  unexpected  appearance  excited  every  feeling  anew. 
Yet  in  that  harrowing  interview  still  she  had  been  firm. 
She  had  even  told  him  a  secret,  which  it  was  almost  death  to 
reveal,  that  he  might  forget  her ;  for  how  could  he  wed  with 
her  ?  And  yet  even  that  barrier  he  would  have  passed,  and 
his  generous,  his  determined  love,  would  linger  on  her  mem 
ory  spite  of  every  effort  to  think  of  him  no  more. 

It  was  a  fearful  struggle,  and  often  and  often  she  yearned 
to  confess  all  to  her  father,  whom  she  loved  with  no  common 
love  ;  but  she  knew  too  well,  not  only  the  grief  such  tidings 
would  be  to  him,  but  what  his  judgment  must  be,  and  she 
shrunk  in  agony  from  the  condemnation  of  her  feelings  by 
another,  constantly  as  she  was  condemning  them  herself. 

Henriquez  had  been  absent  from  the  vale  during  Stan 
ley's  unexpected  visit,  and  he  tarried  long  enough  to  excite 
the  alarm,  not  only  of  his  child  but  of  their  domestics ;  nor 
was  its  cause  when  explained  likely  to  ease  Marie's  anxiety. 
He  had  been  attacked  on  the  day  of  his  intended  return  by 
a  strange  sensation  of  giddiness,  followed  by  insensibility, 
which  appeared  to  have  weakened  him  more  than  he  had 
thought  compatible  with  so  brief  an  illness.  He  made  light  of 
it,  but  still  he  was  uneasy,  not  that  he  feared  death  himself, 
but  that  it  might  take  him  from  his  Marie  ere  his  wishes  were 
accomplished,  and  her  earthly  happiness,  as  he  thought,  se 
cured.  The  first  attack  was  but  the  forerunner  of  others, 
sometimes  very  slight  and  brief,  at  others  longer  and  more 
alarming,  rendering  Marie  more  and  more  determined  to 
keep  her  fatal  secret  from  him  ;  for  it  appeared  to  her  that 
any  stronger  emotion  than  customary  would  be  followed  by 
those  attacks ;  and  as  her  love  for  him  seemed  to  increase  in 


38  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

intensity  with  the  anxiety  his  precarious  health  occasioned, 
so  did  her  dread  of  occasioning  him  aught  of  grief.  But  how 
fruitless  are  our  best  and  wisest  resolutions!  One  little 
hour,  and  every  thought  was  changed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

'•'  Oh  !  praise  me  not — 
Look  gently  on  me,  or  I  sink  to  earth 
Not  thus." 

DE  CHATILLON. 

lr  was  the  custom  of  the  inmates  of  the  Yale  of  Cedars,  on.-e 
in  every  year,  and  generally  about  the  season  of  Michaelmas, 
to  celebrate  a  festival,  which  ordained  the  erection  of  a  booth 
or  tent  of  "  branches  of  thick  trees,"  in  which  for  seven  days 
every  meal  was  taken,  and  greater  part  of  the  day  (except  the 
time  passed  in  the  little  Temple)  was  spent.  Large  branches 
of  the  palm  and  cedar,  the  willow,  acacia,  and  the  oak,  cut  so 
as  to  prevent  their  withering  for  the  seven  days,  formed  the 
walls  of  the  tent ;  their  leaves  intermingling  over  head,  so  as 
to  form  a  shelter,  and  yet  permit  the  beautiful  blue  of  the 
heavens  to  peep  within.  Flowers  of  every  shade  and  scent 
formed  a  bordering  within ;  and  bouquets,  richly  and  taste 
fully  arranged,  placed  in  vases  filled  with  scented  earth,  hung 
from  the  branches  forming  the  roof.  Fruit,  too,  was  there — 
the  purple  grape,  the  ripe  red  orange,  the  paler  lemon,  the 
lime,  the  pomegranate,  the  citron,  all  of  which  the  vale  afford 
ed,  adorned  the  board  (which  for  those  seven  days  was  always 
spread  within  the  tent),  intermingled  with  cakes  made  by 
Marie. 

This  was  one  of  the  festivals  for  which  many  of  the  secret 
race  would  visit  the  vale  ;  but  it  so  happened  that,  this  year, 
Manuel,  his  child,  and  their  retainers,  kept  it  alone — a  source 
of  disappointment  and  anxiety  to  the  former,  whose  health 
was  rapidly  (but  still  to  his  child  almost  invisibly)  failing. 
\t  the  close  of  the  solemn  fast  which  always  preceded  }>y 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  39 

five  days  this  festival  of  rejoicing,  he  had  had  a  recurrence 
of  his  deathlike  fits  of  insensibility,  longer  and  more  alarm 
ing  than  usual;  but  he  had  rallied,  and  attributed  it  sc 
naturally  to  his  long  fast,  that  alarm  once  more  gave  place 
to  hope  in  the  heart  of  his  daughter.  Not  thus,  however, 
felt  her  father — convinced  that  death  could  not  be  long  de 
layed,  he  but  waited  for  his  nephew's  appearance  and  acknow 
ledged  love  for  his  cousin,  at  once  to  give  her  to  him,  and 
prepare  her  for  the  worst.  Parental  anxiety  naturally  in 
creased  with  every  hour  that  passed,  and  Ferdinand  appeared 
not. 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  Sabbath ;  one  from  which  in  general 
all  earthly  cares  and  thoughts  were  banished,  giving  place 
to  tranquil  and  spiritual  joy.  The  father  and  daughter  were 
alone  within  their  lovely  tent,  but  both  so  wrapt  in  evidently 
painful  thought,  that  a  strange  silence  usurped  the  usual 
cheerful  converse.  So  unwonted  was  the  anxious  gloom  on 
Manuel's  brow,  that  his  child  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and 
flinging  her  arr»fs  round  his  neck,  she  besought  him  in  the 
tenderest  accents  to  confide  in  her,  as  he  had  ever  done, 
since  her  mother's  death,  to  tell  her  what  so  pained  him — 
might  she  not  remove  it  ?  Henriquez  could  not  resist  that 
fond  yet  mournful  pleading.  He  told  her,  that  he  felt  health 
was  departing,  that  death  seemed  ever  hovering  near,  but 
that  its  pain,  its  care,  would  all  depart,  could  he  behold  his 
long-cherished  wish  fulfilled,  and  his  Marie  the  wife  of  Fer 
dinand,  whose  every  look  and  tone  during  his  last  visit  had 
betrayed  his  devoted  love. 

Marie  heard ;  and  her  cheek  and  lips  blanched  to  such 
ashy  whiteness,  that  her  father  in  alarm  folded  her  to  his 
breast ;  and  sought  to  soothe  a  grief,  which  he  believed  was 
occasioned  merely  by  the  sudden  and  fearful  thought  of  his 
approaching  death ;  and  sought  to  soothe,  by  a  reference  to 
the  endearing  love,  the  cherished  tenderness  which  would 
still  be  hers ;  how  Ferdinand  would  be  to  her  all,  aye  more 
than  all  that  he  had  been,  and  how,  with  love  like  his,  she 
would  be  happier  than  she  had  been  yet.  Much  he  said,  and 
he  might  have  said  still  more,  for  it  was  long  ere  the  startled 
girl  could  interrupt  him.  But  when  he  conjured  her  to  speak 
to  him,  not  to  look  upon  his  death  so  fearfully,  the  beautiful 
truth  of  her  nature  rose  up  against  the  involuntary  deceit 


40  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS ] 

It  was  not  his  death  which  thus  appalled  her ;  alas — alas  !— 
and  she  hated  herself  for  the  fearful  thought — she  had  almost 
lost  sight  of  that,  in  the  words  which  followed.  Breaking 
from  his  embrace,  she  sunk  down  on  her  knees  before  him, 
and  burying  her  face  upon  his  hand,  in  broken  accents  and 
with  choking  sobs,  revealed  the  whole.  How  could  she  do 
her  noble  kinsman  such  fearful  wrong  as  to  wed  him,  when 
her  whole  heart,  thoughts,  nay,  life  itself,  seemed  wrapt  in 
the  memory  of  another  ?  And  that  other  !  Oh  !  who,  what 
was  he  ?  Once  she  looked  up  in  her  father's  face,  but  so 
fearful  were  the  emotions  written  there — wrath  struggling 
with  love,  grief,  pity,  almost  terror — that  hastily  she  with 
drew  her  glance,  and  remained  kneeling,  bent  even  to  the 
dust,  long  after  the  confession  had  been  poured  forth,  wait 
ing  in  fear  and  anguish  for  his  words. 

"  Marie,  Marie !  is  it  my  Marie,  my  sainted  Miriam's 
child,  who  thus  speaks  1  who  hath  thus  sinned  sole  represen 
tative  of  a  race  of  ages,  in  whose  pure  thoughts  such  fearful 
sin  hath  never  mingled.  My  child  so  to  love  the  stranger 
as  to  reject,  to  scorn  her  own  !  Oh  God,  my  God,  why  hast 
thou  so  forsaken  me  ?  Would  I  had  died  before !"  And 
the  heavy  groan  which  followed,  confirmed  the  anguish 
breathed  in  those  broken  words. 

"  Father  !"  implored  the  unhappy  girl,  clasping  his  knees 
in  an  agony  of  supplication,  though  she  raised  not  her  head 
— "  Oh  my  father  !  in  mercy  do  not  speak  thus  !  Words  of 
wrath,  of  reproach,  fearful  as  they  are  from  thee,  yet  I  can 
bear  them,  but  not  such  woe !  Oh,  think  what  I  have  borne, 
what  I  must  still  bear.  If  I  have  sinned,  my  sin  will  bring, 
nay,  it  has  already  brought  its  own  chastisement.  Speak  to 
me  i  but  one  word  of  love — or,  if  it  must  be,  wrath — but 
not,  not  such  accents  of  despair  I" 

Her  father  struggled  to  reply ;  but  the  conflux  of  strong 
emotion  was  too  powerful,  and  Marie  sprung  up  to  support 
him  as  he  fell.  She  had  often  seen  him  insensible  before, 
when  there  appeared  no  cause  for  such  attacks ;  but  was  it 
strange  that  at  such  a  moment  she  should  feel  that  sJie  had 
caused  it? — that  her  sin  perchance  had  killed  her  father;  he 
might  never  wake  more  to  say  he  forgave,  he  blessed  her, — 
or  that  in  those  agonized  moments  of  suspense  she  vowed,  il 
he  might  but  speak  again,  that  his  will  should  be  hers,  even 


OR,   THE    MARTYR. 


41 


did  it  demand  the  annihilation  of  every  former  treasured 
thought !  And  the  vow  seemed  heard.  Gradually  and,  it  ap 
peared,  painfully  life  returned.  His  first  action  was  to  clasp 
her  convulsively  to  his  heart ;  his  next,  to  put  her  gently  yet 
firmly  from  him,  and  bury  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  weep. 

No  sight  is  more  terrible,  even  to  an  indifferent  spectator, 
than  to  behold  tears  wrung  from  the  eyes  of  man — and  to 
his  child  it  was  indeed  torture.  But  she  controlled  the  cho 
king  anguish — calmly  and  firmly  she  spoke,  and  gradually 
the  paroxysm  subsided. 

"  That  I  have  sinned  in  loving  a  stranger  thus,  I  have 
long  felt,"  she  said;  "  and  had  I  been  aware  of  the  nature  of 
these  feelings,  they  should  never  have  gained  ascendency. 
But  I  awoke  too  late — my  very  being  was  enchained.  Still 
I  may  break  from  these  engrossing  thoughts — I  would  do^so 
— pain  shall  be  welcome,  if  it  may  in  time  atone  for  the  in 
voluntary  sin  of  loving  the  stranger,  and  the  yet  more  terri 
ble  one  of  grieving  thee.  Oh,  my  father,  do  what  thou  wilt, 
command  me  as  thou  wilt — I  am  henceforth  wholly  thine." 
"  And  thou  wilt  wed  Ferdinand,  my  child  ?" 
"  Would  he  still  wish  it,  father,  if  he  knew  the  whole  ? 
And  is  it  right,  is  it  just,  to  wed  him,  and  the  truth  still  un- 
revealed?  Oh,  if  he  do  love  me,  as  you  say,  how  can  I  requite 
him  by  deceit?" 

"  Tell  him  not,  tell  him  not,"  replied  Henriquez,  again 
fearfully  agitated;  "let  none  other  know  what  has  been. 
What  can  it  do,  save  to  grieve  him  beyond  thy  power  to  re 
pair  ?  No,  no.  Once  his,  and  all  these  fearful  thoughts  will 
pass  away,  and  their  sin  be  blotted  out,  in  thy  true  faithful 
ness  to  one  who  loves  thee.  His  wife,  and  I  know  that  thou 
wilt  love  him,  and  be  true,  as  if  thou  hadst  never  loved 
another — " 

"  Ay,  could  I  not  be  true,  I  would  not  wed,"  murmured 
Marie,  more  to  herself  than  to  her  father ;  "  and  if  suffering 
indeed  atone  for  sin,  terribly  will  it  be  redeemed.  But  oh, 
my  father,  tell  me — I  have  sworn  to  be  guided  by  thee,  and 
in  all  things  I  will  be — tell  me,  in  wedding  him  whom  thou 
hast  chosen,  do  I  not  still  do  foul  wrong,  if  not  to  him  .(her 
voice  faltered),  unto  another,  whose  love  is  mine  as  well  ?" 

"  Better  for  him,  as  for  thee,  to  wed  another,  Marie ! 
Would'st  thou  wed  the  stranger,  wert  thou  free  ?" 


42 

She  buried  her  face  in  his  bosom,  and  murmured,  "Never  I" 
"  Then  in  what  can  this  passion  end,  but  in  misery  for 
both  ?  In  constant  temptation  to  perjure  thy  soul,  in  for 
saking  all  for  him.  And  if  thou  didst,  would  it  bring  happi 
ness?  My  child,  thou  art  absolved,  even  had  aught  of 
promise  passed  between  you.  Knowest  thou  not  that  a 
maiden  of  herself  hath  no  power  to  vow  ?  Her  father's  will 
alone  absolves  it  or  confirms.  Thou  doest  him  no  wrong, 
Be  Ferdinand's  bride,  and  all  shall  be  forgiven,  all  forgotten 
— thou  art  my  child,  my  Miriam's  child  once  more  !" 

He  pressed  her  again  fondly  to  him ;  but  though  she  made 
no  ieply,  his  arguments  could  not  convince  her.  She  had 
indeed  told  Arthur  that  she  never  could  be  his,  but  yet 
avowed  that  she  loved  him ;  and  if  he  did  meet  her  as  the 
wife  of  another,  what  must  he  believe  her?  And  Ferdinand, 
if  he  did  so  love  her,  that  preoccupied  heart  was  indeed  a  sad 
requital.  She  had,  however,  that  evening  but  little  time  to 
think,  for  ere  either  spoke  again,  the  branches  at  the  entrance 
of  the  tent  were  hastily  pushed  aside,  and  a  tall  manly  form 
stood  upon  the  threshold.  Marie  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a 
faint  cry — could  it  be  that  the  vow  of  an  hour  was  already 
called  upon  to  be  fulfilled  ? — but  the  intruder  attributed  her 
alarm  to  a  different  cause,  and  hastily  flinging  off  his  wrap 
ping  mantle  and  deep  plumed  morion,  he  exclaimed,  "  What ! 
alarmed  by  me,  my  gentle  cousin  ?  dearest  Marie  !  am  I  for 
gotten  ?"  And  Henriquez,  forgetting  all  of  bodily  exhaustion, 
all  of  mental  suffering,  in  the  deep  joy  his  sudden  appear 
ance  caused,  could  only  fold  the  warrior  in  his  feeble  arms, 
and  drooping  his  head  on  his  shoulder,  sob  forth  expressively, 
"  My  son  !  my  sen !" 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  43 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  And  thus  how  oft  do  life  and  death 

Twine  hand  in  hand  together ; 
And  the  funeral  shroud,  and  bridal  wreath, 
How  small  a  space  may  sever !" 

MS. 

\ 

ONE  little  week  did  Ferdinand  spend  within  the  home  of  his 
boyhood  ;  and  in  that  brief  interval  the  earthly  fate  of  Marie 
Henriquez  was  decided.  He  had  deferred  his  visit  till  such 
peace  and  prosperity  had  dawned  for  Spain,  that  he  could 
offer  his  bride  not  only  a  home  suited  to  his  rank,  but  the 
comfort  of  his  presence  and  protection  for  an  indeterminate 
time.  He  had  come  there  purposely  to  reveal  his  long-che 
rished  love  ;  to  conjure  Marie  to  bless  him  with  the  promise 
of  her  hand ;  and,  if  successful,  to  return,  in  two  short 
months,  for  the  celebration  of  their  marriage,  according  to 
their  own  secret  rites,  ere  the  ceremony  was  performed  in 
the  sight  of  the  whole  Catholic  world.  The  intermarriages  of 
first  cousins  had  been  so  common  an  occurrence  in  his  family, 
that  Ferdinand,  in  spite  of  some  tremblings,  as  a  lover,  had 
regarded  his  final  union  with  Marie  with  almost  as  much 
certainty,  and  as  a  thing  of  course,  as  his  uncle  himself. 

The  effects  of  that  agitating  interview  between  father  and 
daughter  had  been  visible  to  Ferdinand;  but  he  attributed 
it,  very  naturally,  to  the  cause  privately  assigned  for  it  by 
his  kinsman — Marie's  first  conviction  that  her  father's  days 
were  numbered.  He  had  been  greatly  shocked  at  the  change 
in  Henriquez's  appearance,  and  deeply  affected  at  the  solemn 
and  startling  earnestness  with  which  he  consigned  his  child 
to  his  care,  beseeching  him,  under  all  circumstances,  to  love 
and  cherish  her.  His  nephew  could  scarcely  understand, 
then,  such  earnest  pleadings.  .  Alas !  ere  his  life  closed,  their 
cause  was  clear  enough. 

Unconscious  that  her  father  and  cousin  were  together,  or 
of  the  nature  of  their  conversation,  Marie  had  joined  them, 
unexpectedly,  ere  the  interview  was  over.  From  her  father's 


44  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS  J 

lips,  and  in  a  tone  of  trembling  agitation,  she  heard  that 
his  long-cherished  prayer  was  granted,  and  that  she  was  his 
nephew's  plighted  bride.  He  joined  their  hands,  blessed 
them,  and  left  them  alone  together,  ere  she  had  had  power 
to  utter  a  single  word ;  and  when  voice  was  recalled  by  the 
tender,  earnest  accents  of  her  cousin,  beseeching  her  to  ratify 
her  father's  consent — to  say  she  would  learn  to  love  him,  if  she 
did  not  then ;  that  she  would  not  refuse  the  devotedness  he  prof 
fered — what  could  she  answer  ?  She  had  so  long  loved  him, 
venerated  him,  gloried  in  his  achievements,  his  honors,  as  of 
an  elder  and  much-loved  brother,  that,  had  she  followed  the 
impulse  of  her  nature,  she  would  have  thrown  herself  as  a 
sister  on  his  neck,  and  poured  forth  her  tale  of  sorrow.  But 
she  had  sworn  to  be  guided  by  her  father,  and  he  had  besought 
her  to  reveal  nothing;  and  therefore  she  promised  to  be  his, 
even  while  with  tears  she  declared  herself  unworthy.  But 
such  words  were  of  little  meaning  to  her  enraptured  lover 
save  to  bid  him  passionately  deny  them,  and  excite  his  ardent 
affection  more  than  ever — satisfied  that  she  could  be  not  in 
different,  listening  as  she  did,  with  such  flushed  cheek  and  glis 
tening  eye,  to  the  theme  of  his  life  since  they  had  parted — 
the  favor  of  the  sovereigns,  and  the  station  he  had  won. 

During  the  two  months  which  intervened  between  Don 
Ferdinand's  departure  and  promised  return,  Marie  strained 
every  nerve  to  face  her  destiny,  and  so  meet  it  with  calmness. 
Had  she  not  loved,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  feel 
herself  the  cherished  object  of  her  cousin's  love  without 
returning  it,  possessing,  as  he  did,  alike  inward  and  out 
ward  attraction  to  win  regard.  She  studiously  and  earnestly 
banished  every  thought  of  Arthur  as  it  rose ;  she  prayed 
only  for  strength  to  be  faithful,  not  only  in  outward  seeming 
but  in  inward  thought ;  that  Stanley  might  never  cross  her 
path  again,  or,  if  he  did,  that  his  very  affections  migkt  be 
estranged  from  her ;  that  the  secret  she  had  revealed  might 
alone  be  thought  upon,  till  all  of  love  had  gone.  The  tor 
ture  of  such  prayer,  let  those  who  love  decide ;  but  it  was 
the  thought  of  his  woe,  did  he  ever  know  she  was  another's 
bride,  that  haunted  her.  Her  own  suffering  it  was  compari- 
tively  easy  to  bear,  believing  as  she  did,  that  they  were  called 
for  by  her  involuntary  sin  :  but  his — so  successfully  had  she 
conquered  herself,  that  it  was  only  when  his  countenance  of 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  45 

reproach  would  flit  before  her,  that  the  groan  burst  from  her 
heart,  and  she  felt  bowed  unto  the  earth. 

Infirmity  itself  seemed  conquered  in  the  rejoicing  thank 
fulness  with  which  Henriquez  regarded  this  fulfilment  of  his 
wishes.  He  appeared  actually  to  regain  strength  and  energy; 
his  alarming  fainting  fits  had  not  recurred  since  his  nephew's 
visit,  and  Marie  hoped  he  would  be  spared  her  longer  than 
he  believed.  He  never  recurred  to  her  confession,  but  la 
vished  on  her,  if  possible,  yet  more  endearing  love,  and  con 
stantly  alluded  to  the  intense  happiness  which  her  consent 
to  be  her  cousin's  bride  had  given  him.  Once  he  left  the 
vale,  despite  his  precarious  health,  taking  with  him  his  old 
retainer,  Reuben,  and  returned,  laden  with  the  richest  gems 
and  costliest  silks,  to  adorn  his  child,  on  her  bridal  day,  as 
befitted  the  bride  of  Ferdinand. 

Time  passed :  the  day  specified  by  Ferdinand  rapidly 
approached.  He  was  there  to  meet  it — and  not  alone. 
Thoughtful  of  his  Marie's  feeling,  he  had  resolved  that  she 
should  not  stand  beside  the  altar  without  one  female  friend ; 
and  he  brought  one.  the  sight  of  whom  awakened  associa 
tions  with  such  overpowering  strength,  that  Marie  could  only 
throw  herself  upon  her  bosom,  almost  convulsed  with  tears. 
It  was  Donna  Emelie  de  Castro,  at  whose  house  she  had 
joined  the  world ;  but  her  emotion,  supposed  natural  to  the 
agitating  ceremony  impending,  and  her  father's  precarious 
health,  happily  for  her,  passed  without  further  notice  than 
sympathy  and  love. 

Henriquez,  for  once,  was  indifferent  alike  to  the  agita 
tion  of  Marie,  or  the  presence  of  Ferdinand.  His  glance 
was  fiaea  on  one  of  a  little  group,  all  of  whom,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  this  individual,  were  familiar  to  his  home  and 
heart.  He  was  clothed  as  a  monk  ;  but  his  cowl  was  thrown 
back,  and  his  gaze  so  fixed  on  Marie  that  she  blushed  beneath 
it,  and  turned  away. 

<l  Do  not  turn  from  me,  my  child,"  he  said ;  and  Henri 
quez  started  at  the  voice,  it  was  so  fraught  with  memories  of 
the  departed.  "  Stranger  as  I  must  be,  save  in  name,  to 
thee — thou  art  none  such  to  me.  I  seem  to  feel  thy  mother 
once  again  before  me — and  never  was  sister  more  beloved  ! 
— Manuel,  hast  thou,  indeed,  forgotten  Julien?" 

Almost  ere  he  ceased  to  speak,  the  long  separated  rela 


46 

tives  were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms.  The  five-and-twenfcy 
years,  which  had  changed  the  prime  of  manhood  into  advanc 
ing  age,  and  blanched  the  hair  of  each,  had  had  no  power  to 
decrease  the  strong  ties  of  kindred,  so  powerful  in  their 
secret  race.  The  agitation  and  excitement  of  Henriquez  was 
so  excessive,  not  only  then,  but  during  the  few  days  inter 
vening  before  the  celebration  of  the  bridal,  that  Marie,  in 
spite  of  the  near  approach  of  the  dreaded  day,  could  only 
think  of  him. 

Ferdinand  was  no  exacting  lover :  his  affection  for  her 
was  so  intense,  so  true ;  his  confidence  in  her  truth  so  per 
fect,  that,  though  he  might  at  times  have  fancied  that  she 
loved  not  then  with  fervor  equal  to  his  own,  he  was  content 
ed  to  believe  that  his  devotion  would  in  time  create  in  her 
as  powerful  a  feeling.  He  had  so  watched,  so  tended  her 
from  infancy  :  she  had  so  clung  to  and  reverenced  him,  so 
opened  her  young  heart,  without  one  reservation,  to  his  view 
— so  treated  him  as  her  most  cherished,  most  loved  friend, 
that  how  could  he  dream  she  had  aught  to  conceal,  or  believe 
that,  did  she  know  there  was,  she  could  have  hesitated,  one 
moment,  to  refuse  his  hand,  preferring  even  the  misery  of 
so  grieving  him,  to  the  continued  agony  of  deceit  ?  It  was 
this  perfect  confidence,  this  almost  childish  trust,  so  beautiful 
in  one  tried,  as  he  had  been,  in  the  ordeal  of  the  world,  that 
wrung  Marie's  heart  with  deepest  torture.  He  believed  her 
other  than  she  was  j — but  it  was  too  late — she  dared  not  un 
deceive  him. 

The  nuptial  morning  dawned.  The  party,  not  more  than 
twelve  or  fourteen  in  all,  assembled  within  the  little  edifice, 
whose  nature  had  so  puzzled  Arthur.  Its  interior  was  as 
peculiar  as  its  outward  appearance :  its  walls,  of  polished 
cedar,  we~e  unadorned  with  either  carving,  pictures,  or  ima 
gery.  In  the  centre,  facing  the  east,  was  a  sort  of  raised 
table  or  desk,  surrounded  by  a  railing,  and  covered  with  a 
cloth  of  the  richest  and  most  elaborately  worked  brocade. 
Exactly  opposite,  and  occupying  the  centre  of  the  eastern 
wall,  was  a  sort  of  lofty  chest,  or  ark ;  the  upper  part  of 
which,  arched,  and  richly  painted,  with  a  blue  ground,  bore 
in  two  columns,  strange  hieroglyphics  in  gold :  beneath  this 
were  portals  of  polished  cedar,  panelled,  and  marked  out, 
with  gold,  but  bearing  no  device;  their  hinges  set  in  gilded 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  47 

pillars,  which  supported  the  arch  above.  Before  these  por 
tals  were  generally  drawn  curtains,  of  material  rich  and  glit 
tering  as  that  upon  the  reading-desk.  But  this  day  not  only 
were  the  curtains  drawn  aside,  but  the  portals  themselves 
flung  open,  as  the  bridal  party  neared  the  steps  which  led  to 
it,  and  disclosed  six  or  seven  rolls  of  parchment,  folded  on 
silver  pins,  and  filled  with  the  same  strange  letters,  each 
clothed  in  drapery  of  variously  colored  brocade,  or  velvet,  and 
surmounted  by  two  sets  of  silver  ornaments,  in  which  the 
bell  and  pomegranate  were,  though  small,  distinctly  discern 
ible.  A  superb  lamp,  of  solid  silver,  was  suspended  from 
the  roof;  and  one  of  smaller  dimensions,  but  of  equally 
valuable  material,  and  always  kept  lighted,  hung  just  before 
the  ark. 

Julien  Morales,  at  his  own  particular  request,  was  to  read 
the  ceremony ;  and  three  hours  after  noon  he  stood  within 
the  portals,  on  the  highest  step  ;  a  slab  of  white  marble 
divided  him  from  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  over  whom  a 
canopy  was  raised,  supported  by  four  silver  poles.  The  lux 
uriant  hair  of  the  bride  had  been  gathered  up,  and,  save  two 
massive  braids,  shading  her  brow  and  cheek,  was  concealed 
under  a  head-dress,  somewhat  resembling  an  eastern  turban, 
but  well  suited  to  her  countenance.  Her  dress,  of  the  fashion 
before  described,  was  all  of  white — the  jacket  or  bodice 
richly  woven  with  gold  threads  ;  but  so  thick  a  veil  envelop 
ed  face  and  form,  that  her  sweet  face  was  concealed,  until,  at 
one  particular  part  of  the  mysterious  rite  (for  such,  to  the 
Spaniards,  this  ceremony  must  have  been),  the  veil  was  up 
lifted  for  her  to  taste  the  sacred  wine,  and  not  allowed  to  fall 
again.  Neither  the  bridegroom  (agitated  himself,  for  his  was 
not  a  nature  to  think  lightly  of  the  nuptial  rite),  nor  Henri- 
quez  (whose  excitement  was  extreme)  was  conscious  of  the 
looks  of  alarm,  blended  with  admiration,  which  the  raising 
of  the  veil  attracted  towards  Marie.  Lovely  she  was  ;  but 
it  was  the  loveliness  of  a  marble  statue,  not  of  life — her  very 
lips  were  blanched,  and  every  feature  still,  indeed ;  but  a 
stillness  of  so  peculiar  an  expression,  so  inexpressibly,  so 
thrillingly  sad,  that  admiration  appeared  indefinably  and 
strangely  transformed  to  pain.  The  wedding  ring  waa 
placed  upon  her  hand — a  thin  crystal  goblet  broken  by  Fer 
dinand,  on  the  marble  at  his  feet — and  the  rites  were  con- 


48 

eluded.  An  almost  convulsive  embrace  from  her  father — 
the  unusual  wildness  of  his  voice  and  manner,  as  he  blessed, 
and  called  her  his  own  precious  child,  who  this  day  had  placed 
the  seal  upon  his  happiness,  and  confirmed  twenty  years  of 
filial  devotedness  and  love — awoke  her  from  that  stagnating 
trance.  She  folded  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  burst  into 
passionate  tears  ;  and  there  were  none,  not  even  Ferdinand, 
to  chide  or  doubt  that  emotion — it  was  but  natural  to  her 
character,  and  the  solemn  service  of  the  day. 

Gay  and  joyous  was  the  meal  which  followed  the  bridal. 
No  appurtenances  of  modern  pomp  and  luxury,  indeed, 
decoratecPthe  board :  its  only  ornaments  were  the  loveliest 
flowers,  arranged  in  alabaster  vases,  and  silver  baskets  filled 
with  blushing  fruit.  The  food  was  simple,  and  the  wines  not 
choice  ;  but  the  guests  thought  not  of  mere  sensual  enjoy 
ment.  In  these  secret  meetings,  each  felt  there  was  some 
thing  holy ;  richer  homes,  more  gorgeous  feasts,  were  theirs 
in  the  world,  whenever  they  so  willed  ;  but  such  intercourse 
of  brotherhood  seldom  occurred,  and  when  it  came,  was  con 
sequently  hallowed. 

Some  time  they  sat  around  the  board  ;  and  so  unrestrain 
ed,  so  full  of  varied  interest  was  their  eager  converse,  that 
sunset  came  unheeded  ;  and  the  silver  lamps,  fed  with  sweet 
incense,  were  placed  upon  the  table.  Julien  then  arose,  and 
solemnly  pronounced  the  usual  blessing,  or  rather  thanks 
giving,  after  the  bridal  feast.  Marie  did  not  look  up  during 
its  continuance;  but  as  it  concluded,  she  arose,  and  was 
about  to  retire  with  Donna  Emilie,  when  her  eye  caught  her 
father,  and  a  cry  of  alarm  broke  from  her.  The  burning 
flush  had  given  place  to  a  livid  paleness — the  glittering  of 
the  eye  to  a  fixed  and  glassy  gaze.  The  frame  was,  fort  a 
moment,  rigid  as  stone,  then  fearfully  convulsed  ;  and  Reu 
ben,  starting  forward,  caught  his  master  as  he  fell.  There 
was  something  so  startling  and  unusual  in  the  seizure,  that 
even  those  accustomed  to  his  periods  of  insensibility  were 
alarmed  ;  and  vain  was  every  effort  of  Ferdinand  to  awaken 
hope  and  comfort  in  the  seemingly  frozen  spirit  of  his  bride. 

Henriquez  was  conveyed  to  his  room,  and  every  restora 
tive  applied ;  but  even  the  skill  of  Julien,  well  versed  as  he 
was  in  the  healing  art,  was  without  effect.  More  than  an 
hour  passed,  and  still  he  lay  like  death ;  and  no  sound,  no 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  49 

sob,  broke  from  the  torn  heart  of  his  hapless  child,  who  knelt 
beside  his  couch  ;  her  large  dark  eyes,  distended  to  even 
more  than  their  usual  size,  fixed  upon  his  face  5  her  hands 
clasped  round  one  of  his  ;  but  had  she  sought  thus  to  give 
warmth  she  would  have  failed,  for  the  hand  of  the  living  was 
cold  and  damp  as  that  of  the  seeming  dead. 

A  slight,  almost  imperceptible  flush  floated  over  that 
livid  cheek — the  eyes  unclosed,  but  so  quickly  closed  again 
that  it  was  more  like  the  convulsive  quivering  of  the  muscle 
than  the  effort  of  the  will ;  and  Marie  alone  had  marked  the 
change. 

"  Father !"  she  almost  shrieked  in  agony,  "  in  mercy 
speak  to  me  again — say  but  you  forgive — bless " 

"  Forgive "  feebly  repeated  the  dying  man ;  and  the 
strong  feeling  of  the  father,  for  a  brief  interval,  conquered 
even  death — "  Forgive  ? — my  beautiful — my  own  ! — the  word 
is  meaningless,  applied  to  thee.  Art  thou  not  my  Ferdi 
nand's  bride,  and  hast  thou  not  so  taken  the  sting,  the  trial 
even  from  this  dread  moment  ?  My  precious  one  ! — would 
I  could  see  that  face  once  more — but  it  is  dark — all  dark — 
kiss  me,  my  child  !" 

She  threw  herself  upon  his  bosom,  and  covered  his  cheek 
with  kisses.  He  passed  his  hand  feebly  over  her  face*"  as  if 
the  touch  could  once  more  bring  her  features  to  his  sight ; 
and  then  extending  his  left  hand,  feebly  called — "  Ferdi 
nand  !" 

His  nephew  caught  the  withered  hand,  and  kneeling 
clown,  pressed  it  reverentially  and  fondly  to  his  lips. 

Henriquez's  lips  moved,  but  there  came  no  word. 

"  Doubt  me  not,  my  more  than  father  !  From  boyhood 
to  youth,  from  youth  to  manhood,  I  have  doted  on  thy  child. 
Shall  I  love  and  cherish  her  less  now,  that  she  has  only  me  ? 
Oh,  trust  me  ! — if  devotion  can  give  joy,  she  will  know  no 
grief,  that  man  can  avert,  again !" 

A  strange  but  a  beautiful  light  for  a  single  minute  dis 
persed  the  fearful  shadow  creeping  over  Henriquez's  features. 

"  My  son  !  my  son ! — I  bless  thee — and  thou,  too,  my 
drooping  flower.  Julien  !  my  brother — lay  me  beside  my 
Miriam.  Thou  didst  not  come  for  this — but  it  is  well.  My 
children — my  friends — send  up  the  hymn  of  praise — the 


50  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS; 

avowal  of  our  faith  ;    once  more   awake  the  voice  of  oui 
fathers !" 

He  was  obeyed ;  a  psalm  arose,  solemn  and  sweet,  in  ac 
cents  familiar  as  their  mother  tongue,  to  those  who  chanted  ; 
but  had  any  other  been  near,  not  a  syllable  would  have  been 
intelligible.  But  the  voice  which  in  general  led  to  such 
solemn  service — so  thrilling  in  its  sweetness,  that  the  most 
indifferent  could  not  listen  to  it  unmoved — now  lay  hushed 
and  mute,  powerless  even  to  breathe  the  sobs  that  crushed 
her  heart.  And  when  the  psalm  ceased,  and  the  prayer  for 
the  dying  followed,  with  one  mighty  effort  Henriquez  raised 
himself,  and  clasping  his  hands,  uttered  distinctly  the  last 
solemn  words  ever  spoken  by  his  race,  and  then  sunk  back — 
and  there  was  silence.  Minutes,  many  minutes,  rolled  by — • 
but  Marie  moved  not.  G-ently,  and  tenderly,  Don  Ferdi 
nand  succeeded  in  disengaging  the  convulsive  hold  with 
which  she  still  clasped  her  parent,  and  sought  to  bear  her 
from  that  sad  and  solemn  room.  Wildly  she  looked  up  in 
his  face,  and  then  on  those  beloved  features,  already  fixed 
and  gray  in  death ; — with  frantic  strength  she  pushed  aside 
her  husband,  and  sunk  down  by  her  father's  side. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  Slight  are  the  outward  signs  of  evil  thought : 
Within,  within — 'twas  there  the  spirit  wrought. 
Love  shows  all  changes :  hate,  ambition,  guile, 
Betray  no  further  than  the  bitter  smile." 

BYRON. 

OUR  readers  must  imagine  that  nearly  a  year  and  a  half  has 
elapsed  since  the  conclusion  of  our  last  chapter.  During  that 
interval  the  outward  life  of  Marie  had  passed  in  a  calm,  even 
stream ;  which,  could  she  have  succeeded  in  entirely  banish 
ing  thoughts  of  the  past,  would  have  been  unalloyed  enjoy 
ment.  Her  marriage,  as  we  hinted  in  our  fourth  chapter,  had 
been  solemnized  in  public,  with  all  the  form  and  ceremony 
of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  with  a  splendor  incumbent  on 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  51 

the  high  rank  and  immense  wealth  of  the  bridegroom.  In 
compliance  with  Marie's  wishes,  however,  she  had  not  yet  been 
presented  to  the  Queen ;  delicate  health  (which  was  the  fact, 
for  a  terrible  fever  had  succeeded  the  varied  emotions  of  her 
wedding  day)  and  her  late  bereavement,  was  her  husband's 
excuse  to  Isabella  for  her  non-appearance — an  excuse  gra 
ciously  accepted ;  the  rather  that  the  Queen  of  Castile  was  then 
much  engrossed  with  political  changes  and  national  reforms, 
than  from  any  failing  of  interest  in  Don  Ferdinand's  bride. 

Changed  as  was  her  estate,  from  her  lovely  home  in  the 
Vale  of  Cedars,  where  she  had  dwelt  as  the  sole  companion 
of  an  ailing  parent,  to  the  mistress  of  a  large  establishment 
in  one  of  the  most  populous  cities  of  Castile ;  the  idolized 
wife  of  the  Governor  of  the  town — and,  as  such,  the  object  of 
popular  love  and  veneration,  and  called  upon,  frequently,  to 
exert  influence  and  authority — still  Marie  did  not  fail  per 
forming  every  new  duty  with  a  grace  and  sweetness  binding 
her  more  and  more  closely  to  the  doting  heart  of  her  husband. 
For  her  inward  self,  Marie  was  calm — nay,  at  intervals,  al 
most  happy.  She  had  neither  prayed  nor  struggled  in  vain, 
and  she  felt  as  if  her  very  prayer  was  answered  in  the  fact 
that  Arthur  Stanley  had  been  appointed  to  some  high  and 
honorable  post  in  Sicily,  and  they  were  not  therefore  likely 
yet  to  meet  again.  The  wife  of  such  a  character  as  Morales 
could  not  have  continued  wretched  unless  perversely  resolved 
so  to  be.  But  his  very  virtues,  while  they  inspired  the  deepest 
reverence  towards  him,  engendere'd  some  degree  of  fear. 
Could  she  really  have  loved  him  as — he  believed  she  did — 
this  feeling  would  not  have  had  existence  ;  but  its  foundation 
was  the  constant  thought  that  she  was  deceiving  him — the 
remorse,  that  his  fond  confidence  was  so  utterly  misplaced — 
the  consciousness,  that  there  was  still  something  to  conceal, 
which,  if  discovered,  must  blight  his  happiness  for  ever,  and 
estrange  him  from  her,  were  it  only  for  the  past  deceit.  Had 
his  character  been  less  lofty — his  confidence  in  her  less  per 
fect — his  very  love  less  fond  and  trusting — she  could  have 
borne  her  trial  better;  but  to  one  true,  ingenuous,  open  as 
herself,  what  could  be  more  terrible  than  the  unceasing 
thought  that  she  was  acting  a  part — and  to  her  husband? 
Often  and  often  she  longed,  with  an  almost  irresistible  impulse, 
to  fling  herself  at  his  feet,  and  beseech  him  not  to  pierce  her 


52  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

heart  with  such  fond  trust;  but  the  impulse  was  forcibly  con 
trolled.  What  would  such  confession  avail  her  now? — or  him, 
save  to  wound1? 

Amongst  the  many  Spaniards  of  noble  birth  who  visited 
Don  Ferdinand's,  was  one  Don  Luis  Garcia,  whose  actual 
rank  and  office  no  one  seemed  to  know ;  and  yet,  in  affairs  of 
church  or  state,  camp  or  council,  he  was  always  so  associated, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  discover  to  which  of  these  he  was 
allied ;  in  fact,  there  was  a  mystery  around  him,  which  no  one 
could  solve.  Notwithstanding  his  easy — nay,  it  was  by  some 
thought  fascinating  manners,  his  presence  generally  created 
a  restraint,  felt  intuitively  by  all,  yet  comprehended  by  none. 
That  there  is  such  an  emotion  as  antipathy  mercifully  placed 
within  us,  often  as  a  warning,  we  do  most  strenuously  believe ; 
but  we  seldom  trace  and  recognize  it  as  such,  till  circumstan 
ces  reveal  its  truth. 

The  real  character  of  Don  Luis,  and  the  office  he  held,  our 
future  pages  will  disclose  ;  suffice  it  here  to  state,  that  there 
was  no  lack  of  personal  attractions  or  mental  graces,  to  ac 
count  for  the  universal,  yet  unspoken  and  unacknowledged  dis 
like  which  he  inspired.  Apparently  in  the  prime  of  life,  he 
yet  seemed  to  have  relinquished  all  the  pleasures  and  even 
the  passions  of  life.  Austere,  even  rigid,  in  those  acts  of 
piety  and  personal  mortifications  enjoined  by  his  religion — vo 
luntary  fasts,  privations,  nights  supposed  to  be  past  in  vigil 
and  in  penance;  occasional  rich  gifts  to  patron  saints,  and 
their  human  followers  ;  art  absence  of  all  worldly  feeling,  even 
ambition  ;  some  extraordinary  deeds  of  benevolence — all  ren 
dered  him  an  object  of  actual  veneration  to  the  priests  and 
monks  with  which  the  goodly  city  of  Segovia  abounded ;  and 
^ven  the  populace  declared  him  faultless,  as  a  catholic  and  a 
man,  even  while  their  inward  shuddering  belied  the  words. 

Don  Ferdinand  Morales  alone  was  untroubled  with  these 
contradictory  emotions.  Incapable  of  hypocrisy  himself,  he 
could  not  imagine  it  in  others  :  his  nature  seemed  actually  too 
frank  and  true  for  the  admission  even  of  a  prejudice.  Little 
did  he  dream  that  his  name,  his  wealth,  his  very  favor  with 
the  Queen,  his  influence  with  her  subjects,  had  already  stamp 
ed  him,  in  the  breast  of  the  man  to  whom  his  house  and  heart 
alike  were  open,  as  an  object  of  suspicion  and  espial ;  and 
that  ere  a  year  had  passed  over  his  wedded  life,  these  feelings 


OR,   THE    MARTYR. 


53 


were  ripened,  cherished— changed  from  the  mer^  thought  of 
persecution,  to  palpable  resolve,  by  personal  and  ungovern 
able  hate. 

Don  Luis  had  never  known  love ;  not  even  the  fleeting 
fancy,  much  less  the  actual  passion,  of  the  sensualist,  or  the 
spiritual  aspirings  of  true  affection.  Of  the  last,  in  fact,  he 
was  utterly  incapable.  No  feeling,  with  Vim,  was  of  an  evan 
escent  nature :  under  the  cold  austerity  of  the  ordinary  man, 
lay  coals  of  living  fire.  It  mattered  not  under  what  guise 
excited — hate,  revenge,  ambition,  he  was  capable  of  all.  At 
love,  alone,  he  had  ever  laughed—exulting  in  his  own  security. 

The  internal  condition  of  Spain,  as  we  have  before  said, 
had  been,  until  the  accession  of  Isabella  and  Ferdinand,  one 
of  the  grossest  license  and  most  fearful  immorality.  En 
couraged  in  the  indulgence  of  every  passion,  by  the  example 
of  the  Court,  no  dictates  of  either  religion  or  morality  ever 
interfered  to  protect  the  sanctity  of  home  ;  unbridled  desires 
were  often  the  sole  cause  of  murderous  assaults ;  and  these 
fearful  crimes  continually  passing  unpunished,  encouraged 
the  supposition  that  men's  passions  were  given  to  be  their  sole 
guide,  before  which,  honor,  innocence,  and  virtue  fell  power- 

The  vigorous  proceedings  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  had 
already  remedied  these  terrible  abuses.  Over  the  public 
safety  and  reform  they  had  some  power ;  but  over  the  hearts 
of  individuals  they  had  none  ;  and  there  were  still  some  with 
whom  past  license  was  far  more  influencing  than  present 
restraint  and  legal  severity ;  still  some  who  paused  at  no 
crime  so  that  the  gratification  of  their  passions  was  ensured ; 
and  foremost  amongst  these,  though  by  his  secret  office  pledg 
ed  to  the  annihilation  of  all  domestic  and  social  ties,  as  re 
garded  his  own  person,  was  Don  Luis  Garcia. 

For  rather  more  than  a  year,  Don  Ferdinand  Morales 
had  enjoyed  the  society  of  his  young  wife  uninterruptedly, 
save  by  occasional  visits,  of  brief  duration,  to  Valladolid  and 
Leon,  where  Isabella  alternately  held  her  court.  He  was 
now,  however,  summoned  to  attend  the  sovereigns,  on  a  visit 
to  Ferdinand's  paternal  dominions,  an  office  which  would 
cause  his  absence  for  a  much  longer  interval.  He  obeyed 
with  extreme  reluctance — nor  did  Marie  feel  the  separation 
less.  There  was,  in  some  measure,  a  feeling  of  security  in 


54 

his  presence,  which,  whenever  he  was  absent,  gave  place  tc 
fearful  tremblings  as  to  what  might  transpire  to  shake  her 
faith  in  her,  ere  he  returned. 

Resolved  that  not  the  very  faintest  breath  of  scandal 
should  touch  his  wife,  Marie,  during  the  absence  of  Morales, 
always  kept  herself  secluded.  This  time  her  retirement  was 
stricter  than  ever ;  and  great,  then,  was  her  indignation  and 
astonishment,  when  about  a  fortnight  before  her  husband's 
expected  return,  and  in  direct  contradiction  to  her  commands, 
Don  Luis  Garcia  was  admitted  to  her  presence  ;  and  nothing 
but  actual  flight,  for  which  she  was  far  too  proud  and  self- 
possessed,  could  have  averted  the  private  interview  which 
followed.  The  actual  words  which  passed  we  know  not;  but, 
after  a  very  brief  interval  of  careless  converse  on  the  part  of 
Garcia — something  he  said  earnestly,  and  in  the  tones  of 
pitying  sympathy,  which  caused  the  cheek  and  lips  of  Marie 
to  blanch  to  marble,  and  her  whole  frame  to  shiver,  and  then 
grow  rigid,  as  if  turned  to  stone.  Could  it  be  that  the  fatal 
secret,  which  she  believed  was  known  only  to  herself  and 
Arthur,  that  she  had  loved  another  ere  she  wedded  Ferdi 
nand,  had  been  penetrated  by  the  man  towards  whom  she 
had  ever  felt  the  most  intense  abhorrence?  and  that  he  dared 
refer  to  it  as  a  source  of  sympathy — as  a  proof  that  he  could 
feel  for  her  more  than  her  unsuspecting  husband?  Why 
was  speech  so  frozen  up  within  her,  that  she  could  not,  for 
the  moment,  answer,  and  give  him  back  the  lie  ?  But  that 
silence  of  deadly  terror  lasted  not  long :  he  had  continued  to 
speak ;  at  first  she  was  unconscious  of  his  change  of  tone, 
words,  and  even  action ;  but  when  his  actual  meaning  flashed 
upon  her,  voice,  strength,  energy  returned  in  such  a  burst  of 
womanly  indignation,  womanly  majesty,  that  Garcia  himself, 
skilled  in  every  art  of  evil  as  he  was,  quailed  beneath  it,  and 
felt  that  he  was  powerless,  save  by  violence  and  revenge. 

While  that  terrible  interview  lasted,  the  wife  of  Morales 
had  not  failed ;  but  when  once  more  alone,  the  most  deadly 
terror  took  possession  of  her.  She  had,  indeed,  so  triumphed 
as  to  banish  Garcia,  defeated,  from  her  presence ;  but  fearful 
threats  of  vengeance  were  in  that  interview  divulged — allu 
sions  to  some  secret  power,  over  which  he  was  the  head,  arm 
ed  with  authority  even  greater  than  that  of  the  sovereign's — 
mysteriously  spoken,  but  still  almost  strangely  intelligible, 


Oil, 


55 

that  in  her  betrayal  or  her  silence  lay  the  safety  or  the  dan 
ger  of  her  husband— all  compelled  the  conviction  that  her 
terror  and  her  indignation  at  the  daring  insult  must  be 
buried  deep  in  her  own  breast ;  even  while  the  supposition 
that  Don  Luis  knew  all  the  past  (though  how,  her  wildest 
imagination  could  not  discover),  and  that  therefore  she  was 
in  his  power,  urged  her  yet  more  to  a  full  confession  to  her 
husband.  Better  if  his  heart  must  be  wrung  by  her,  than  by 
a  foe ;  and  yet  she  shrunk  in  anguish  from  the  task. 

She  was,  however,  deceived  as  to  tfie  amount  of  Garcia's 
knowledge  of  her  past  life.  Accustomed  to  read  human  na 
ture  under  all  its  varied  phases— employing  an  unusually 
acute  penetration  so  to  know  his  fellows  as  to  enable  him, 
when  needed,  to  create  the  greatest  amount  of  misery— he 
nad  simply  perceived  that  Marie's  love  for  her  husband  was 
of  a  different  nature  to  his  for  her,  and  that  she  had  some 
secret  to  conceal.  On  this  he  had  based  his  words :  his  sus 
picions  were,  unhappily,  confirmed  by  the  still,  yet  express 
ive  agony  they  had  occasioned.  Baffled,  as  in  some  measure 
he  had  been,  his  internal  rage  that  he  should  have  so  quailed 
before  a  woman,  naturally  increased  the  whirlwind  of  con 
tending  passions :  but  schooled  by  his  impenetrable  system 
of  hypocrisy  to  outward  quietness  and  control,  he  waited,  cer 
tain  that  circumstances  would  either  of  themselves  occur,  or 
be  so  guided  by  him  as  to  give  him  ample  means  of  triumph 
and  revenge. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

•*  You  would  have  thought  the  very  windows  spake ; 
So  many  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

IN  an  apartment,  whose  pale,  green  hangings,  embroidered 
with  richly-colored  flowers,  and  whose  furniture  and  orna 
ments,  all  of  delicate  material  and  refined  taste,  marked  it  as 
a  meet  boudoir  for  gentle  blood,  sat  Marie  and  her  husband. 
She  occupied  her  favorite  seat — a  cushion  at  his  feet>  and 


56  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS ] 

was  listening  with  interest  to  his  animated  history  of  the 
Sovereign's  welcome  to  Saragossa,  the  popular  ferment  at 
their  appearance,  the  good  they  had  accomplished,  and  would 
still  accomplish,  as  their  judicious  plans  matured.  It  was 
clear,  he  said,  that  they  had  resolved  the  sovereign  power 
should  not  be  merely  nominal,  as  it  had  been.  By  making 
himself  proclaimed  and  received  as  grand  master  of  the  three 
great  orders  of  knighthood — Saint  lago,  Compostella,  and 
Alcantara — the  immense  influence  of  those  associations  must 
succumb  to,  and  be  guided  by,  Ferdinand  alone ;  the  power 
of  the  nobles  would  thus  be  insensibly  diminished,  and  the 
mass  of  the  kingdom — the  PEOPLE — as  a  natural  consequence, 
become  of  more  importance,  their  position  more  open  to  the 
eyes  of  the  sovereigns,  and  their  condition,  physically  and 
morally,  ameliorated  and  improved. 

"  I  feel  and  acknowledge  this,  dearest ;  though  one  of  the 
class  whose  power  must  be  diminished  to  accomplish  it ;"  he 
continued,  "  I  am  too  anxious  for  the  internal  prosperity  of 
my  country  to  quarrel  with  any  measures  which  minds  so  en 
lightened  as  its  present  sovereigns  may  deem  requisite.  But 
this  is  but  a  grave  theme  for  thee,  love.  Knowest  thou  that 
her  Grace  reproached  me  with  not  bringing  thee  to  join  the 
Arragonese  festivities?  When  Donna  Emilie  spoke  of  thee, 
and  thy  gentle  worth  and  feminine  loveliness,  as  being  such 
as  indeed  her  Grace  would  love,  my  Sovereign  banished  me 
her  presence  as  a  disloyal  cavalier  for  so  deserting  thee ;  and 
when  I  marked  how  pale  and  thin  thou  art,  I  feel  that  she 
was  right ;  I  should  have  borne  thee  with  me." 

"  Or  not  have  left  me.  Oh,  my  husband,  leave  me  not 
again  !"  she  replied,  with  sudden  and  involuntary  emotion, 
which  caused  him  to  throw  his  arm  round  her,  and  fondly  kiss 
her  brow. 

"  Not  for  the  court,  dearest ;  but  that  gentle  heart  must 
not  forget  thou  art  a  warrior's  wife,  and  as  such,  for  his  hon 
or's  sake,  must  sometimes  bear  the  pang  of  parting.  Nay, 
thou  tremblest,  and  art  still  paler !  Ere  such  summons 
come,  thou  wilt  have  learned  to  know  and  love  thy  Queen, 
and  in  her  protecting  favor  find  some  solace,  should  I  be 
called  to  war." 

"  War  !  talk  they  of  war  again  ?  I  thought  all  was  now 
at  peace  ?" 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  57 

•c  Yes,  love,  in  our  sovereign's  hereditary  dominions ;  but 
there  can  be  no  lasting  peace  while  some  of  the  fairest  terri 
tory  of  Spain  still  dims  the  supremacy  of  Castile,  and  bowa 
down  to  Moorish  masters.  It  is  towards  Grenada  King  Fer 
dinand  looks,  yearning  for  the  day  when,  all  internal  commo 
tions  healed,  he  can  head  a  gallant  army  to  compel  subjection  ; 
and  sad  as  it  will  be  to  leave  thee.  sweet,  thou  wilt  forgive 
thy  soldier  if  he  say,  would  that  the  day  were  come  !" 

"And  will  not  their  present  extent  of  kingdom  suffice  the 
sovereigns  ?  When  they  recall  their  former  petty  domains, 
and  compare  them  with  the  present,  is  it  not  enough  ?" 

Morales  smiled.  "  Thou  speakest  as  a  very  woman,  gentle 
one,  to  whom  the  actual  word  '  ambition  '  is  unknown.  Why, 
the  very  cause  thou  namest  urges  our  sovereigns  to  the  con 
quest  of  these  Moors.  They  are  the  blot  upon  a  kingdom 
otherwise  as  fair  and  great  as  any  other  European  land. 
They  thirst  to  raise  it  in  the  scale  of  kingdoms — to  send 
down  their  names  to  posterity,  as  the  founders  of  the  Span 
ish  monarchy — the  builders  and  supporters  of  a  united  throne, 
and  so  leave  their  children  an  undivided  land.  Surely  this 
is  a  glorious  project,  one  which  every  Spanish  warrior  must 
rejoice  to  aid.  But  fear  not  a  speedy  summons,  love :  much 
must  be  accomplished  first.  Isabella  will  visit  this  ancient 
city  ere  then,  and  thou  wilt  learn  to  love  and  reverence  her  as 
I  do." 

"In  truth,  my  husband,  thou  hast  made  me  loyal  as  thy 
self;  but  say  they  not  she  is  severe,  determined,  stern?" 

"  To  the  guilty,  yes  ;  even  the  weak  crafty  will  not  stand 
before  her  repelling  glance :  but  what  hast  thou  to  fear,  my 
love?  Penetrative  as  she  is,  seeming  to  read  the  heart 
through  the  countenance,  she  can  read  nought  in  thee  save 
qualities  to  love.  I  remember  well  the  eagle  glance  she  fixed 
on  King  Ferdinand's  young  English  favorite,  Senor  Stan 
ley,  the  first  time  he  was  presented  to  her.  But  she  was 
satisfied,  for  he  ranks  as  deservedly  high  in  her  favor  as  in 
her  husband's.  Thou  hast  heard  me  speak  of  this  young  En 
glishman,  my  Marie  ?" 

Her  face  was  at  that  moment  turned  from  him,  or  he 
might  have  started  at  its  sudden  flush ;  but  she  assented  by 
a  sign. 

"  He  was  so  full  of  joyousness  and  mirth,  that  to  us  c! 


58  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

graver  nature  it  seemed  almost  below  his  dignity  as  man  j 
and  now  they  tell  me  he  is  changed  so  mournfully  ;  grave, 
sad,  silent,  maturity  seems  to  have  descended  upon  him  ere 
he  has  quite  passed  boyhood  ;  or  he  has  some  secret  sorrow, 
too  sacred  to  be  revealed.  There  is  some  talk  of  his  recall 
from  Sicily,  he  having  besought  the  king  for  a  post  of  more 
active  and  more  dangerous  service.  Ferdinand  loves  such 
daring  spirits,  and  therefore  no  doubt  will  grant  his  boon. 
Ha  !  Alberic,  what  is  it  ?"  he  continued,  eagerly,  as  a  page 
entered,  and  delivered  a  packet  secured  with  floss  silk,  and 
sealed  with  the  royal  signet,  adding  that  it  had  been  brought 
by  an  officer  of  the  royal  guard,  attended  by  some  men  at 
arms.  '•  Give  him  welcome  suited  to  his  rank,  boy :  I  will 
but  peruse  these,  and  attend  him  instantly." 

The  page  withdrew,  and  Don  Ferdinand,  hastily  cutting 
the  silk,  was  speedily  so  engrossed  in  his  despatches,  as  to 
forget  for  the  time  even  the  presence  of  his  wife ;  and  well 
it  was  so ;  for  it  enabled  her  with  a  strong  effort  to  conquer 
the  deadly  sickness  Morale's  careless  words  had  caused — the 
pang  of  dread  accompanying  every  thought  of  Arthur's  re 
turn  to  Spain — to  still  the  throbbing  pulse  and  quivering 
lip,  and,  outwardly  unmoved,  meet  his  joyous  glance  once 
more. 

"  'Tis  as  I  thought  and  hoped,"  he  said,  with  animation : 
"the  sovereigns  hold  their  court  for  some  months  in  this 
city  ;  coeval,  in  antiquity,  associations,  and  loyalty,  with  Val- 
ladolid  and  Leon,  Isabella,  with  her  characteristic  thought 
for  all  her  subjects,  has  decided  on  making  it  occasionally 
the  seat  of  empire  alternately  with  them,  and  commissions 
me,  under  her  royal  seal,  to  see  the  castle  fittingly  prepared. 
Listen,  love,  what  her  Grace  writes  farther — '  Take  heed,  my 
good  lord,  and  hide  not  in  a  casket  the  brightest  gem  which 
we  have  heard  adorns  thy  home.  We  would  ourselves  judge 
the  value  of  thy  well-hoarded  jewel — not  that  we  doubt  its 
worth ;  for  it  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  he  who  hath  ever 
borne  off  the  laurel  wreath  from  the  competitors  for  glory, 
should  not  in  like  manner  seek  and  win  the  prize  of  beauty. 
In  simple  language,  let  Donna  Marie  be  in  attendance.'  And 
so  thou  shalt,  love ;  and  by  thy  gentle  virtues  and  modest 
loveliness,  add  increase  of  honor  to  thy  husband.  Hai 
what  says  Gonzalo  de  Lara?"  he  added,  as  his  eye  glanced 


011,    THE    MARTYR.  59 

over  another  paper — "  '  Tumults  in  Sicily — active  measures 
— Senor  Stanley — enough  on  which  to  expend  his  chivalric 
ardor,  and  evince  his  devotedness  to  Ferdinand  ;  but  Sicily 
quieted — supposed  the  king  will  still  grant  his  request — as 
sign  him  some  post  about  his  person,  be  at  hand  for  military 
service  against  the  Moors.'  Good  !  then  the  war  is  resolved 
on.  We  must  bestir  ourselves,  dearest,  to  prepare  fit  recep 
tion  for  our  royal  guests ;  there  is  but  brief  time." 

He  embraced  and  left  her  as  he  spoke ;  and  for  several 
minutes  Marie  remained  without  the  power  even  to  rise  from 
her  seat :  one  pang  conquered,  another  came.  Arthur's  re 
call  appeared  determined ;  would  it  be  so  soon  that  he  would 
join  the  sovereigns  before  they  reached  Segovia  ?  She  dared 
not  think,  save  to  pray,  with  wild  and  desperate  fervor, 
that  such  might  not  be. 

Magnificent,  indeed,  were  Don  Ferdinand's  preparations 
for  the  banquet  with  which  he  intended  to  welcome  his  sove 
reigns  to  Segovia.  The  castle  was  to  be  the  seat  of  their 
residence,  and  the  actual  locale  of  their  court ;  but  it  was  at 
his  own  private  dwelling  he  resolved,  by  a  sumptuous  enter 
tainment,  to  evince  how  deeply  and  reverentially  he  felt  the 
favor  with  which  he  was  regarded  by  both  monarchs,  more 
especially  by  Isabella,  his  native  Sovereign. 

In  the  many  struggles  which  were  constantly  occurring 
between  the  Spaniards  and  Moors,  the  former  had  be 
come  acquainted  with  the  light  yet  beautiful  architecture 
and  varied  skill  in  all  the  arts  peculiar  to  the  latter,  and  dis 
played  their  improved  taste  in  both  public  and  private  build 
ings.  Morales,  in  addition  to  natural  taste,  possessed  great 
affluence,  which  enabled  him  to  evince  yet  greater  splendor 
in  his  establishment  than  was  usual  to  his  countrymen. 

There  was  one  octangular  room,  the  large  panels  form 
ing  the  walls  of  which  were  painted,  each  forming  a  striking 
picture  of  the  principal  events  in  the  history  of  Spain,  from 
the  descent  of  Don  Palayo,  and  the  mountaineers  of  Astu- 
rias,  who  struck  the  first  blow  for  Spanish  freedom,  to  the 
accession  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  The  paintings  were 
not  detached  pictures,  but  drawn  and  colored  on  the  wall 
itself,  which  had  been  previously  prepared  for  the  reception 
of  the  colors  by  a  curious  process,  still  in  use  among  the 


60 


THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 


Orientals.*  The  colors,  when  dry,  were  rubbed,  till  the 
utmost  brilliancy  was  attained ;  and  this,  combined  as  it  was 
with  a  freedom  and  correctness  of  drawing,  produced  an 
effect  as  striking  then  as  it  would  be  ffovel  to  modern  eyes. 
One  side,  divided  into  three  compartments,  contained  in  one 
a  touching  likeness  of  the  young  Alfonso.  His  figure,  rather 
larger  than  life,  was  clothed  in  armor,  which  shone  as  in 
laid  with  gold.  His  head  was  bare,  and  his  bright  locks 
flowed  over  his  shoulders  as  he  wore  them  in  life.  His  bril 
liant  eye,  his  lofty  brow,  and  peculiarly  sweet  expression  oi 
mouth,  had  been  caught  by  the  limner,  and  transferred  to 
his  painting  in  all  their  original  beauty.  Round  him  were 
grouped  some  of  the  celebrated  cavaliers  of  his  party ;  and 
the  back-ground,  occupied  by  troops  not  in  regular  battal 
ions,  but  as  impelled  by  some  whelming  feeling  of  national 
excitement,  impossible  to  be  restrained.  Answering  to  this 
was  a  full  length  of  the  infanta  Isabella  I.,  in  the  act  of  re 
fusing  the  crown  offered  by  the  confederates.  The  centre 
compartment  represented  the  union  of  Castile  and  Arragon 
by  the  nuptials  of  their  respective  sovereigns  in  the  cathe^ 
dral  church  of  Yalladolid.  Over  these  pictures  were  sus 
pended  golden  lamps,  inlaid  with  gems ;  so  that,  day  or 
night,  the  effect  should  remain  the  same.  Opposite  the  dais, 
huge  folding-doors  opened  on  an  extensive  hall,  where  the 
banquets  were  generally  held,  and  down  which  Don  Ferdi 
nand  intended  to  range  the  tables  for  his  guests  of  lesser 
rank,  leaving  the  octangular  apartment  for  the  royal  tables, 
and  those  of  the  most  distinguished  nobles ;  the  one,  how 
ever,  so  communicating  with  the  other,  as  to  appear  one 
lengthened  chamber.  On  the  right  hand  of  the  dais,  an 
other  large  door  opened  on  a  withdrawing-room,  the  floor  of 
which  was  of  marble,  curiously  tinted ;  and  the  walls  hung 
with  Genoa  velvet,  ruby-colored,  and  bordered  by  a  wide 
fringe  of  gold.  Superb  vases  of  alternate  crystal  and  frosted 
silver,  on  pedestals  of  alabaster  and  of  aqua-marine,  were 
ranged  along  the  walls,  the  delicate  beauty  of  their  mate 
rial  and  workmanship  coming  out  well  against  the  rich  color 
ing  of  the  hangings  behind.  The  roof,  a  lofty  dome,  dis 
played  the  light  Arabesque  workmanship,  peculiar  to  Moor- 

*See  Art  Union  Journal,  August,  1845. 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  61 

ish  architecture,  as  did  the  form  and  ornaments  of  -the  win 
dows.  This  apartment  opened  into  another,  much  smaller, 
each  side  of  which,  apparently  formed  of  silver  plate,  reflected 
as  mirrors  every  object ;  and  the  pillars  supporting  the  pe 
culiarly  light  roof  of  the  same  glittering  material.  Some 
parts  of  the  extensive  gardens  Morales  intended  to  illumi 
nate  ;  and  others,  for  the  effect  of  contrast,  to  be  left  in 
deepest  shadow. 

Nothing  was  omitted  which  could  do  honor  to  the  royal 
guests,  or  cast  a  reproach  upon  the  magnificent  hospitality 
of  their  hosts.  The  preparations  were  but  just  completed, 
when  an  advance  guard  arrived  at  Segovia  with  the  tidings 
of  the  rapid  approach  of  the  sovereigns  ;  and  Moiales,  with  a 
gallant  troop  of  his  own  retainers,  and  a  procession  of  the 
civil  and  military  officers  of  Segovia,  hastened  to  meet  and 
escort  them  to  the  town. 

With  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  Marie  had  followed  the 
example  of  almost  every  female  in  Segovia,  and,  wrapt  in  her 
shrouding  veil,  had  stationed  herself,  with  some  attendants  at  a 
casement  overlooking  the  long  line  of  march.  The  city  itself 
presented  one  scene  of  gladsome  bustle  and  excitment :  flags 
were  suspended  from  every  "  turret,  dome,  and  tower,"  rich 
tapestries  hung  over  balconies,  which  were  filled  with  females  of 
every  rank  and  grade,  vying  in  the  richness  and  elegance  of  their 
apparel,  and  their  coquettish  use  of  the  veil  and  fan,  so  as  to 
half-hide  and  half-display  their  features,  more  or  less  beauti 
ful — for  beautiful  as  a  nation,  the  Spanish  women  undoubt 
edly  are.  Bells  were  ringing  from  every  church ;  ever  and 
anon  came  a  burst  of  warlike  music,  as  detached  troops 
galloped  in  the  town,  welcomed  with  shouts  as  the  officer  at 
their  head  was  recognized.  Even  the  priests  themselves, 
with  their  sober  dresses  and  solemn  countenances,  seemed 
touched  with  the  universal  excitement,  relaxing  into  smiles 
and  hearty  greeting  with  the  laymen  they  encountered.  As 
the  hours  waned,  popular  excitement  increased.  It  was  the 
first  visit  of  Isabella  to  the  city ;  and  already  had  her  char 
acter  been  displayed  in  such  actions  as  to  kindle  the  warmest 
love  towards  the  woman,  in  addition  to  the  enthusiastic? 
loyalty  towards  the  QueSn. 

At  length  the  rumor  rose  that  the  main  body  was  ap 
proaching — in  little  more  than  a  hour  the  sovereigns  would 


62 

pass  the-gatefc,  and  excitement  waxed  wilder  and  wilder,  and 
impatience  -was  only  restrained  by  the  interest  excited  to 
wards  the  gallant  bodies  of  cavalry,  which  now  in  slow  and 
measured  march  approached,  forming  the  commencement  of 
a  line,  which  for  three  hours  continued  to  pour  within  the 
city  in  one  unbroken  strain. 

Even  Marie  herself,  pre-occupied  as  she  was  in  the  dread 
search  for  one  object,  could  not  glance  down  on  the  moving 
multitude  beneath  her  without  in  some  degree  sharing  the 
enthusiasm  of  her  countrymen.  There  were  gallant  warriors 
of  every  age,  from  the  old  man  to  the  beardless  youth ; 
chargers,  superb  in  form  and  rich  in  decoration ;  a  field  of 
spears  glittering  in  the  broad  sunshine,  some  bearing  the 
light  *ay  pennoncelle,  others  absolutely  bending  beneath  the 
heavy  folds  of  banners,  which  the  light  breeze  at  times  ex 
tended  so  as  to  display  their  curious  heraldic  bearings,  and 
then  sunk  heavily  around  their  staffs.  Esquires  bearing 
their  masters'  shields,  whose  spotless  fields  flung  back  a 
hundred-fold  the  noonday  sun — plumes  so  long  and  droop 
ing,  as  to  fall  from  the  gilded  crest  till  they  rested  on  the 
shoulder — armor  so  bright  as  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  be 
holders,  save  when  partly  concealed  under  the  magnificent 
surcoats  and  mantles,  amongst  which  the  richest  velvets, 
slashed  with  gold  or  silver,  distinguished  the  highest  nobles. 
Pageantry  like  this  mingled  with  such  stirring  sounds  as  the 
tramp  of  the  noble  horse,  curveting,  prancing,  rearing,  as  if 
disdaining  the  slow  order  of  march — the  thrilling  blast  of 
many  trumpets,  the  long  roll,  or  short,  sharp  call  of  the 
drum ;  and  the  mingled  notes  of  martial  instruments,  blend 
ing  together  in  wild  yet  stirring  harmony,  would  be  sufficient 
even  in  this  prosaic  age  to  bid  the  heart  throb  and  the  cheek 
burn,  recognizing  it,  as  perhaps  we  should,  merely  as  the 
symbol,  not  the  thing.  What,  then,  must  it  have  been,  when 
men  felt  such  glittering  pageant  and  chivalric  seeming,  the 
realities  of  life  ? 

At  length  came  the  principal  group ;  the  pressure  of  the 
crowds  increased,  and  human  hearts  so  throbbed,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  they  could  not  breathe,  save  in  the  stunning 
shouts,  bidding  the  very  welkin  ring.  Surrounded  by  a 
guard  of  honor,  composed  indiscriminately  of  Castilians  and 
Arragonese,  mounted  on  a  jet  black  steed,  which  pawed  the 


OS,   THE    MARTYR.  63 

ground,  and  shook  his  graceful  head,  as  conscious  of  his 
princely  burden,  magnificently  attired,  but  in  the  robes  of 
peace,  with  a  circlet  of  gold  and  gems  enwreathing  his  black 
velvet  cap,  his  countenance  breathing  this  day  but  the  kindly 
emotions  of  his  more  youthful  nature,  unshadowed  by  the 
wile  and  intrigue  of  after-years,  King  Ferdinand  looked  the 
mighty  monarch,  whose  talents  raised  his  country  from 
obscurity,  and  bade  her  stand  forth  among  the  first  of 
European  nations.  But  tumultuary  as  were  the  shouts  with 
which  he  was  recognized,  they  were  faint  in  comparison  to 
those  which  burst  forth  at  sight  of  the  Princess  at  his  side. 
Isabella  had  quitted  her  litter  on  re-entering  her  own  domin 
ions,  and  now  rode  a  cream-colored  charger,  which  she  manag 
ed  with  the  grace  and  dignity  of  one  well  accustomed  to  the 
exercise,  alike  in  processions  of  peace  and  scenes  of  war. 

The  difference  of  age  between  the  sovereigns  was  not 
perceivable,*  for  the  grave  and  thoughtful  character  of  Fer 
dinand  gave  him  rather  the  appearance  of  seniority ;  while 
the  unusual  fairness  of  Isabella's  complexion,  her  slight  and 
somewhat  small  stature,  produced  on  her  the  contrary  eifect. 
The  dark  gray  eye.  the  rich  brown  hair  and  delicate  skin  of 
the  Queen  of  Castile  deprived  her,  somewhat  remarkably,  of 
all  the  characteristics  of  a  Spaniard,  but,  from  their  very 
novelty  attracted  the  admiration  of  her  subjects.  Beautiful 
she  was  not ;  but  her  charm  lay  in  the  variable  expression  of 
her  features.  Peculiarly  and  sweetly  feminine,  infused,  as 
Washington  Irving  observes,  with  "a  soft,  tender  melan 
choly,"  as  was  their  general  expression,  they  could  yet  so 
kindle  into  indignant  majesty,  so  flash  with  reproach  or 
scorn,  that  the  very  color  of  the  eye  became  indistinguishable, 
and  the  boldest  and  the  strongest  quailed  beneath  the  mighty 
and  the  holy  spirit,  which  they  could  not  but  feel,  that  frail 
woman  form  enshrined. 

Bound  the  sovereigns  were  grouped,  in  no  regular  order 
of  march,  but  forming  a  brilliant  cortege,  many  of  the  celebrat 
ed  characters  of  their  reign — men,  not  only  of  war,  but  of 
literature  and  wisdom,  whom  both  monarchs  gloried  in  dis 
tinguishing  above  their  fellows,  seeking  to  exalt  the  honor  of 
their  country,  not  only  in  extent  of  dominion,  but  by  the 

*  Isabella  was  eight  or  ten  years  Ferdinand's  senior. 


64  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

shining  qualities  of  her  sons.  It  was  to  this  group  the  strain 
ed  gaze  of  Marie  turned,  and  became  riveted  on  the  Queen, 
feeling  strangely  and  indefinably  a  degree  of  comfort  as  she 
gazed  ;  to  explain  wherefore,  even  to  herself,  was  impossible  ; 
but  she  felt  as  if  she  no  longer  stood  alone  in  the  wide  world, 
whose  gaze  she  dreaded ;  a  new  impulse  rose  within  her, 
urging  her,  instead  of  remaining  indifferent,  as  she  thought 
she  should,  to  seek  and  win  Isabella's  regard.  She  gazed 
and  gazed,  till  she  could  have  fancied  her  very  destiny  was 
in  some  way  connected  with  the  Queen's  visit  to  Segovia — 
that  some  mysterious  influences  were  connecting  her,  insigni 
ficant  as  she  was,  with  Isabella's  will.  She  strove  with  the 
baseless  vision;  but  it  would  gain  ground,  folding  up  her 
whole  mind  in  its  formless  imaginings.  The  sight  of  her 
husband,  conversing  eagerly  with  the  sovereign,  in  some 
degree  startled  her  back  to  the  present  scene.  His  cheek 
was  flushed  with  exercise  and  excitement;  his  large  dark 
eyes  glittering,  and  a  sunny  smile  robbing  his  mouth  of  its 
wonted  expression  of  sternness.  On  passing  his  mansion  he 
looked  eagerly  up,  and  with  proud  and  joyous  greeting  doffed 
his  velvet  cap,  and  bowed  with  as  earnest  reverence  as  if  he 
had  still  to  seek  and  win  her.  The  chivalry  of  Don  Ferdi 
nand  Morales  was  proved,  yet  more  after  marriage  than 
before. 

It  was  over :  the  procession  had  at  length  passed :  she 
had  scanned  every  face  and  form  whose  gallant  bearing  pro 
claimed  him  noble ;  but  Arthur  Stanley  was  not  amongst 
them,  and  inexpressibly  relieved,  Marie  Morales  sunk  down 
on  a  low  seat,  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  lifted  up 
her  whole  soul  in  one  wild — yet  how  fervent ! — burst  of 
thanksgiving. 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  65 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Yet  was  I  calm.    I  knew  the  time 

My  breast  would  thrill  before  thy  look ; 
But  now,  to  tremble  were  a  crime : 
We  met,  and  not  a  nerve  was  shook." 

BYRON. 

THE  excitement  of  the  city  did  not  subside  with  the  close  of 
the  procession.  The  quiet  gravity  and  impressive  appear 
ance  of  age,  which  had  always  marked  Segovia,  as  a  city 
more  of  the  past  than  present,  gave  place  to  all  the  bustling 
animation  peculiar  to  a  provincial  residence  of  royalty.  Its 
central  position  gave  it  advantages  over  Valladolid,  the  usual 
seat  of  the  monarchs  of  Castile  and  Leon,  to  sovereigns  who 
were  seeking  the  internal  peace  and  prosperity  of  their  sub 
jects,  and  were  resolved  on  reforming  abuses  in  every  quar 
ter  of  their  domains.  The  deputation  from  the  city  was 
graciously  received  ;  their  offering — a  golden  vase  filled  with 
precious  stones — accepted,  and  the  seal  put  to  their  loyal 
excitement  by  receiving  from  Isabella's  own  lips,  the  glad  in 
formation  that  she  had  decided  on  making  Segovia  her  resi 
dence  for  the  ensuing  year,  and  that  she  trusted  the  loyalty 
which  the  good  citizens  of  Segovia  had  so  warmly  proffered 
would  be  proved,  by  their  endeavors  in  their  own  households 
to  reform  the  abuses  which  long  years  of  misrule  and  misery 
had  engendered.  She  depended  on  them,  her  people,  to  aid 
her  with  heart  and  hand,  and  bade  them  remember,  no  indi 
vidual  was  so  insignificant  as  to  remove  his  shoulder  from 
the  wheel  on  plea  of  uselessness.  She  trusted  to  her  citizen 
subjects  to  raise  the  internal  glory  of  her  kingdom,  as  she 
did  to  her  nobles  to  guard  their  safety,  elevate  her  chivalry, 
and  by  their  untarnished  honor  and  stainless  valor,  present 
an  invincible  front  to  foreign  foes,  Isabella  knew  human 
nature  well ;  the  citizens  returned  to  their  houses  bound  for 
ever  to  her  service. 

Don  Luis  Garcia  had  joined  the  train  of  Morales  when  he 
set  forth  to  meet  the  sovereigns.  His  extraordinary  auster 
ity  and  semblance  of  lowly  piety,  combined  as  they  were 


66  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

with  universal  talent,  had  been  so  much  noised  abroad  as  to 
reach  the  ears  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella ;  and  Morales,  ever 
eager  to  promote  the  interests  of  a  countryman,  took  the 
earliest  opportunity  of  presenting  him  to  them.  He  was 
graciously  enough  received :  but,  though  neither  spoke  it,  an 
indefinable  feeling  of  disappointment  took  possession  of  their 
minds,  the  wherefore  they  knew  not.  Don  Luis  had  con 
versed  well,  both  as  to  the  matter  and  the  manner ;  but  nei 
ther  Ferdinand  nor  Isabella  felt  the  smallest  inclination  to 
advance  him  to  any  post  about  themselves.  In  virtue  of  his 
supposed  rank,  however,  he  of  course  mingled  with  the  court 
ly  crowd,  which  on  the  appointed  evening  thronged  the  man 
sion  of  Don  Ferdinand. 

Tremblingly  as  Marie  looked  forward  to  that  evening, 
she  spared  no  pains  to  gratify  her  husband  in  the  choice  of 
her  toilet.  Sorrow  had  never  made  her  indifferent,  and  she 
sought  to  please  him  even  in  the  most  trifling  occurrences  of 
life.  Her  beautiful  hair  still  lay  in  soft,  glossy  bands  against 
the  delicate  cheeks,  and  was  gathered  up  behind  in  a  mas 
sive  plait,  forming,  as  it  were,  a  diadem  at  the  back  of  the 
exquisitely  shaped  head,  from  which  fell  a  white  veil — 
rather,  perhaps,  a  half  mantle,  as  it  shaded  the  shoulders, 
not  the  face — of  silver  tissue,  so  delicately  woven  as  to 
resemble  lace,  save  in  its  glittering  material.  A  coronet  of 
diamonds  was  wreathed  in  and  out  the  plait,  removing  all 
semblance  of  heaviness  from  the  headgear,  and  completely 
divesting  it  of  gaudiness.  Her  robe,  of  blue  brocade,  so 
closely  woven  with  silver  threads  as  to  glisten  in  the  light  of 
a  hundred  lamps  almost  like  diamonds,  had  no  ornament 
save  the  large  pearls  which  looped  up  the  loose  sleeves  above 
the  elbow,  buttoned  the  bodice  or  jacket  down  the  front,  and 
ricniy  embroidered  the  wide  collar,  which,  thrown  back,  dis 
closed  the  wearer's  delicate  throat  and  beautiful  fall  of  the 
shoulders,  more  than  her  usual  attire  permitted  to  be  visible. 
The  tiny  white  silk  slipper,  embroidered  »in  pearl,  a  collaret 
and  bracelets  of  the  same  beautiful  ornament,  of  very  large 
size,  completed  her  costume. 

Not  even  the  presence  of  royalty  could  restrain  the 
burst  of  undisguised  admiration  which  greeted  Marie,  as,  led 
forward  by  her  eager  husband,  she  was  presented  to  the  sov 
ereigns,  and  knelt  to  do  them  homage.  Ferdinand  himself 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  67 

gazed  on  her  a  moment  astonished ;  then  with  animated 
courtesy  hastily  raised  her,  and  playfully  chid  the  movement 
as  unmeet  from  a  hostess  to  her  guests. 

A  strange  moisture  had  risen  to  the  eyes  of  the  Queen 
as  she  first  beheld  Marie.  It  might  have  been  that  marvel 
lous  perfection  of  face  and  form  which  caused  the  emotion ; 
for  if  all  perfection,  even  from  man's  hand,  is  affecting  even 
to  tears,  what  must  be  the  work  of  God  ?  It  might  have 
been  that  on  that  young,  sweet  face,  to  the  Queen's  mental 
eye,  a  dim  shadow  from  the  formless  realms  of  the  future 
havered — that,  stealing  from  that  outward  form  of  loveliness, 
she  beheld  its  twin  sister,  sorrow.  Whatever  it  might  have 
been,  kind  and  gentle  as  Isabella's  manner  ever  was,  espe 
cially  to  her  own  sex,  to  Marie  it  was  kinder  and  gentler 
still. 

How  false  is  the  charge  breathed  from  man's  lips,  that 
woman  never  admires  woman  ! — that  we  are  incapable  of  the 
lofty  feeling  of  admiration  of  our  own  sex  either  for  beauti 
ful  qualities  or  beauteous  form  !  There  is  no  object  in  cre 
ation  more  lovely,  more  fraught  with  intensest  interest  (if, 
indeed,  we  are  not  so  wholly  wrapt  in  the  petty  world  of  self 
as  to  have  none  for  such  lofty  sympathies)  than  a  young  girl 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  existence ;  beautiful,  in 
nocent,  and  true ;  offspring  as  yet  of  joy  and  hope  alone,  but 
before  whom  stretches  the  dim  vista  of  graver  years,  and  the 
yearning  thoughts,  unspoken  griefs,  and  buried  feelings,  which 
even  in  the  happiest  career  must  still  be  woman's  lot.  There 
may  be  many  who  can  see  no  charm  and  feel  no  interest  in 
girlhood's  beauty :  but  not  in  such  is  woman's  best  and  holi 
est  nature ;  and  therefore  not  by  such  should  she  be  judged. 

"  We  will  not  chide  thee,  Senor,  for  thy  jealous  care  of 
this  most  precious  gem,"  said  Isabella,  addressing  Don  Fer 
dinand,  while  her  eye  followed  Marie,  who,  re-assured  by  the 
Queen's  manner,  had  conquered  her  painful  timidity,  and 
was  receiving  and  returning  with  easy  grace  and  natural 
dignity  the  greetings  and  gallantries  of  her  guests  :  "  she  is 
too  pure,  too  precious  to  meet  the  common  eye,  or  breathe  a 
courtly  atmosphere." 

Don  Ferdinand's  eye  glistened.  "  And  yet  I  fear  her 
not,"  he  rejoined :  "she  is  as  true,  as  loving,  as  she  is  loved 
and  lovely." 


68  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS  J 

"I  doubt  it  not:  nay,  'tis  the  spotless  purity  of  soul 
breathing  in  that  sweet  face,  which  I  would  not  behold  taint 
ed,  'by  association  with  those  less  pure.  No :  let  her  rest 
within  the  sanctuary  of  thy  heart  and  hearth,  Don  Ferdi 
nand.  We  do  not  command  her  constant  attendance  on  our 
person,  as  we  had  intended." 

Conscious  of  the  inexpressible  relief  which  this  assur 
ance  would  be  to  his  wife,  Morales  eagerly  and  gratefully 
expressed  his  thanks  ;  and  the  Queen  passed  on,  rejoicing  in 
the  power  of  so  easily  conferring  joy. 

\V  e  may  not  linger  on  the  splendor  of  this  scene,  or  at 
tempt  description  of  the  varied  and  picturesque  groups  filling 
the  gorgeous  suite  of  rooms,  pausing  at  times  to  admire  the 
decorations  of  the  domed  chamber,  or  passing  to  and  fro  in 
the  hall  of  mirrors,  gayly  reflected  from  the  walls  and  pillars. 
The  brilliant  appearance  of  the  extensive  gardens  ;  their 
sudden  and  dazzling  illuminations  as  night  advanced  ;  their 
curious  temples,  and  sparkling  fountains  sending  up  sheets 
of  silver  in  the  still  air  and  darkening  night,  and  falling  in 
myriads  of  diamonds  on  innumerable  flowers,  whose  brilliant 
coloring,  illuminated  by  small  lamps,  concealed  beneath  their 
foliage,  shone  forth  like  gems  ;  the  groups  of  Moorish  slaves, 
still  as  statues  in  their  various  attitudes  5  the  wild,  barbaric 
music,  startling,  yet  delighting  all  who  listened,  and  causing 
many  an  eager  warrior  to  grasp  his  sword,  longing  even  at 
such  a  moment  to  exchange  that  splendid  scene  for  the  clash 
and  stir  of  war — we  must  leave  all  to  the  imagination  of  our 
readers,  and  bid  them  follow  us  to  the  banquet  hall,  where, 
summoned  by  the  sound  of  the  gong,  the  numerous  guests 
sat  down  to  tables,  groaning  beneath  the  profuse  hospitality 
of  their  host,  and  the  refined  magnificence  of  the  display. 

All  the  warrior  stirred  $he  soul  of  the  King,  as,  on  taking 
his  seat  at  the  dais,  he  glanced  round  and  beheld  the  glori 
ous  triumphs  of  his  country  so  strikingly  portrayed.  But 
Isabella  saw  but  one  picture,  felt  but  one  thought ;  and 
Marie  never  forgot  the  look  she  fixed  on  the  breathing  por 
trait  of  Alfonso,  nor  the  tone  with  which  she  inquired — 

"  Hadst  thou  ever  a  brother,  Marie  ?" 

"  Never,  royal  Madam." 

"  Then  thou  canst  not  enter  into  the  deep  love  I  bore 
yon  princely  boy,  nor  the  feeling  that  picture  brings.  Marie, 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  69 

I  would  cast  aside  my  crown,  descend  my  throne  without  one 
regretful  murmur,  could  I  but  hold  him  to  my  heart  once 
more,  as  I  did  the  night  he  bade  me  his  glad  farewell.  It 
was  for  ever  !  Thy  husband  speaks  of  him  sometimes  ?:) 

"  Often,  often,  my  gracious  liege,  till  his  lip  has  quivered 
and  his  eye  has  glistened  !" 

Isabella  pressed  her  hand,  and  with  even  more  than  her 
wonted  graciousness,  turned  to  receive  from  the  hand  of  her 
host  the  gemmed  goblet  of  wine,  which,  in  accordance  with 
established  custom,  Don  Ferdinand  knelt  down  to  present, 
having  first  drunk  of  it  himself. 

Inspiringly  sounded  the  martial  music  during  the  coit 
tinuance  of  the  banquet.  Brightly  sparkled  the  brimming 
goblets  of  the  far-famed  Spanish  wine.  Lightly  round  the 
table  ran  the  gay  laugh  and  gayer  jest.  Soft  and  sweet  were 
the  whispers  of  many  a  gallant  cavalier  to  his  fair  compan 
ion  ;  for,  in  compliment  to  Isabella,  the  national  reserve  of 
the  daughters  of  Spain  was  in  some  degree  laid  aside  and  a 
free  intercourse  with  their  male  companions  permitted. 
Each,  indeed,  wore  the  veil,  which  could  be  thrown  off, 
forming  a  mantle  behind,  or  drawn  close  to  conceal  every 
feature,  as  coquettish  fancy  willed  ;  nor  were  the  large  fans 
wanting,  with  which  the  Spanish  woman  is  said  to  hold  as 
long  and  desperate  a  flirtation  as  the  coquette  of  other  lands 
can  do  with  the  assistance  of  voice  and  eye.  Isabella's  ex 
ample  had,  however,  already  created  reformation  in  her 
female  train,  and  the  national  levity  and  love  of  intrigue, 
had  in  a  great  degree  diminished. 

The  animation  of  the  scene  was  at  its  height  when  sud 
denly  the  music  ceased,  a  single  gong  was  heard  to  sound, 
and  Alberic,  the  senior  page,  brought  tidings  of  the  arrivax 
of  new  guests  ;  and  his  master,  with  native  courtesy,  hasten 
ed  down  the  hall  to  give  them  welcome. 

*  Marie  had  not  heard,  or,  perhaps,  had  not  heeded  the 
interruption  in  the  music ;  for,  fascinated  by  the  manner  and 
conversation  of  the  Queen,  she  had  given  herself  up  for  the 
time  wholly  to  its  influence,  to  the  forgetfulness  even  of  her 
inward  self.  The  sound  of  many  footsteps  and  a  rejoicing 
exclamation  from  the  King,  excited  the  attention  at  once  of 
Isabella  and  her  hostess.  Marie  glanced  down  the  splendid 
hall ;  and  well  was  it  for  her  that  she  was  standing  behind  the 


70  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS ; 

Queen's  seat,  and  somewhat  deep  in  shadow.  Momentary 
as  was  all  visible  emotion,  its  effect  was  such  as  must  have 
caused  remark  and  wonder  had  it  been  perceived  :  on  herself, 
that  casual  glance,  was  as  if  she  had  received  some  invisibly 
dealt,  yet  fearful  blow.  Her  brain  reeled,  her  eyes  swam,  a 
fearful,  stunning  sound  awoke  within  her  ears,  and  such  fail 
ing  of  bodily  power  as  compelled  her,  spite  of  herself,  to  grasp 
the  Queen's  chair  for  support.  But  how  mighty — how  mar 
vellous  is  the  power  of  will  and  mind!  In  less  thsm  a 
minute  every  failing  sense  was  recalled,  tvery  slackened 
nerve  restrung,  and,  save  in  the  deadly  paleness  of  HD,  ^s 
well  as  cheek,  not  a  trace  of  that  terrible  conflict  remained. 

Aware  that  it  was  at  a  gay  banquet  he  was  to  meet  the 
King,  Arthur  Stanley  had  arranged  his  dress  with  some 
care.  We  need  only  particularize  his  sword,  which  was  re 
markable  for  its  extreme  simplicity,  the  hilt  being  of  the 
basket  shape,  and  instead  of  being  inlaid  with  precious 
stones,  as  was  the  general  custom  of  this  day,  was  composed 
merely  of  highly  burnished  steel.  He  had  received  it  from 
his  dying  father :  and  it  was  his  pride  to  preserve  it  unsul 
lied,  as  it  had  descended  to  him.  He  heeded  neither  laugh 
ter  at  its  'uncouth  plainness,  nor  even  the  malicious  sneer  as 
to  the  poor  Englishman's  incapacity  to  purchase  a  hand 
somer  one ;  rejecting  every  offer  of  a  real  Toledo,  and  de 
claring  that  he  would  prove  both  the  strength  and  brightness 
of  English  steel,  so  that  none  should  gainsay  it. 

"Welcome,  Don  Arthur!  welcome,  Senor  Stanley!  By 
St.  Francis,  I  shall  never  learn  thy  native  title,  youth  !" 
exclaimed  the  monarch,  frankly,  as  he  extended  his  hand, 
which  Stanley  knelt  to  salute.  Returned  with  fresher  laurels, 
Stanley  ?  Why,  man,  thou  wilt  make  us  thy  debtor  in  good 
earnest !" 

"  Nay,  my  gracious  liege  :  that  can  never  be  !"  replied 
Stanley,  earnestly.  "  Grateful  I  am,  indeed,  when  there  is 
opportunity  to  evince  fidelity  and  valor  in  your  Grace's 
service  ;  but  believe  me,  where  so  much  has  been  and  is  re 
ceived,  not  a  life's  devotion  on  my  part  can  remove  the  im 
pression,  that  I  am  the  debtor  still." 

"  I  believe  thee,  boy  !  I  do  believe  thee  !  I  would  mis 
trust  myself  ere  I  mistrusted  thee.  We  will  hear  of  thy 
doings  to-morrow.  Enough  now  to  know  we  are  well  satisfi- 


OR,   THE   MARTYR,  71 

ed  with  thy  government  in  Sicily,  and  trust  our  native  sub 
ject  who  succeeds  thee  will  do  his  part  as  well.  Away  to  thy 
seat,  and  rejoice  that  thou  hast  arrived  ere  this  gay  scene  has 
closed.  Yet  stay :  our  lovely  hostess  hath  not  yet  given 
thee  welcome.  Where  is  the  Senora?  Isabella,  hast  thou 
spirited  her  hence  ?  She  was  here  but  now." 

"  Nay,  good  my  Lord :  she  has  vanished  unwittingly."  re 
plied  Isabella,  as  she  turned  towards  the  spot  where  Marie 
had  been  standing.  "  Don  Ferdinand,  we  must  entreat  thee 
to  recall  her !" 

"  It  needs  not,  royal  Madam :  I  am  here :"  and  Mario 
stepped  forward  from  the  deep  shade  of  the  falling  drapery 
behind  the  royal  seats  which  had  concealed  her,  and  stood 
calmly,  almost  proudly  erect  beside  the  Queen,  the  full  light 
falling  on  her  face  and  form.  But  there  was  little  need  for 
light  to  recognize  her :  the  voice  was  sufficient ;  and  even  the 
vivid  consciousness  of  where  he  stood,  the  hundred  curious 
eyes  upon  him,  could  not  restrain  the  sudden  start — the  be 
wildered  look.  Could  that  be  Marie?  Could  that  be  the 
wife  of  Ferdinand  Morales  ?  If  she  were  the  one,  how  could 
she  be  the  other,  when  scarcely  eighteen  months  previous,  she 
had  told  him  that  which,  if  it  were  true,  must  equally  prevent 
her  union  with  Morales  as  with  himself?  In  what  were  they 
different  save  in  the  vast  superiority  of  wealth  and  rank? 
And  in  the  chaos  of  bewildering  emotions,  so  trustful  was  he  in 
the  truth  of  her  he  loved,  that,  against  the  very  evidence  of 
his  own  senses,  he  for  the  moment  disbelieved  in  the  identity 
of  the  wife  of  Morales  with  the  Marie  Henriquez  of  the  Ce 
dar  Vale.  Perhaps  it  was  well  he  did  so,  for  it  enabled  him 
to  still  the  tumultuous  throbbing  of  his  every  pulse  as  her 
voice  again  sounded  in  his  ear,  saying  he  was  welcome,  most 
welcome  as  her  husband's  friend,  and  to  retire  without  any 
apparent  emotion  to  his  seat. 

He  had  merely  bowed  reverentially  in  reply.  In  any 
other  person  the  silence  itself  would  have  caused  remark : 
but  for  the  last  three  years  Stanley's  reserve  and  silence  in 
the  company  of  women  had  been  such,  that  a  departure  from 
his  general  rule  even  in  the  present  case  would  have  been 
more  noticed  than  his  silence.  Thoughts  of  painful,  almost 
chaotic  bewilderment  indeed,  so  chased  each  other  across  his 
mind  as  to  render  the  scene  around  him  indistinct,  the  many 


72  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

faces  and  eager  voices  like  the  phantasma  of  a  dream.  But 
the  pride  of  manhood  roused  him  from  the  sickening  trance, 
and  urged  him  to  enter  into  the  details,  called  for  by  his 
companions  in  arms,  of  the  revolt  of  the  Sicilians,  with  even 
more  than  usual  animation. 

One  timid  glance  Marie  had  hazarded  towards  her  hus 
band,  and  it  was  met  by  such  a  look  and  smile  of  love  and 
pride  that  she  was  re-assured  to  perform  the  duties  of  the 
evening  unfalteringly  to  the  end.  Alas !  she  little  knew  that 
her  momentary  emotion  and  that  of  Arthur  had  alike  been 
seen,  commented  upon,  and  welcomed  with  fiend-like  glee,  as 
the  connecting  link  of  an  until  then  impalpable  plot,  by  one 
individual  in  that  courtly  crowd,  whose  presence,  hateful  as 
it  was,  she  had  forgotten  in  the  new  and  happter  thoughts 
which  Isabella's  presence  and  notice  had  occasioned. 

And  who  was  there,  the  mere  spectator  of  this  glittering 
pageant,  but  would  have  pronounced  that  there,  at  least,  all 
was  joy,  and  good-will,  and  trust,  and  love?  Who,  even  did 
they  acknowledge  the  theory  that  one  human  heart,  unveiled, 
would  disperse  this  vain  dream  of  seeming  unalloyed  enjoy 
ment,  would  yet  have  selected  the  right  individual  for  the 
proof,  or  would  not  have  shrunk  back  awed  and  saddened 
had  the  truth  been  told  ?  Surely  it  is  well  for  the  young,  the 
hopeful,  and  the  joyous,  that  in  such  scenes  they  see  but  life's 
surface — not  its  depths. 

The  festive  scene  lasted  some  time  longer,  nor  did  it  con 
clude  with  the  departure  of  the  King  and  Queen  :  many  still 
lingered,  wandering  at  their  own  will  about  the  rooms  and 
gardens,  and  dispersing  gradually,  as  was  then  the  custom, 
without  any  set  farewell. 

Her  attendance  no  longer  required  by  the  Queen,  and 
aware  that  her  presence  was  not  needed  by  her  guests,  Marie 
sought  the  gardens ;  her  fevered  spirit  and  aching  head 
yearning  to  exchange  the  dazzling  lights  and  close  rooms  for 
the  darkness  and  refreshing  breeze  of  night.  Almost  uncon 
sciously  she  had  reached  some  distance  from  the  house,  and 
now  stood  beside  a  beautiful  statue  of  a  water-nymph,  over 
looking  a  deep  still  pool,  so  clear  and  limpid,  that  when  the 
moon  cast  her  light  upon  it,  it  shone  like  a  sheet  of  silver, 
reflecting  every  surrounding  object.  There  were  many  paths 
that  led  to  it,  concealed  one  from  the  other  by  gigantic  trees 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  73 

and  overhanging  shrubs.  It  was  a  favorite  spot  with  Marie, 
and  she  now  stood  leaning  against  the  statue,  quite  unconscious 
that  tears  were  falling  faster  and  faster  from  her  eyes,  and 
mingling  with  the  waters  at  her  feet. 

"  Marie  !"  exclaimed  the  voice  of  Stanley  at  that  moment : 
"  Canst  thou  be  Marie?  so  false,  so — "  but  his  words  were 
checked,  for  the  terror,  the  tumult  of  feeling,  while  it  impell 
ed  her  to  start  from  him,  deprived  her  of  all  power ;  and  a 
rapid  movement  on  his  part  alone  prevented  her  from  falling 
in  the  deep  pool  beneath  their  feet.  It  was  but  a  moment : 
she  withdrew  herself  from  his  supporting  arms,  and  stood 
erect  before  him,  though  words  she  had  none. 

"Speak  to  me!"  reiterated  Arthur,  his  \oice  soundiig 
nollow  and  changed  ;  "  I  ask  but  one  word.  My  very  senses 
seem  to  play  me  false,  and  mock  me  with  thy  outward  sem 
blance  to  one  I  have  so  loved.  Her  name,  too,  was  Marie ; 
her  voice  soft  and  thrilling  as  thine  own :  and  yet,  yet,  I  feel 
that  'tis  but  semblance — 'tis  but  mockery — the  phantasy  of 
a  disordered  brain.  Speak,  in  mercy  !  Say  that  it  is  but  sem 
blance — that  thou  art  not  the  Marie  I  have  so  loved." 

"  It  is  true — I  am  that  Marie.  I  have  wronged  thee  most 
cruelly,  most  falsely,"  she  answered,  in  a  tone  low  and  col 
lected  indeed,  but  expressive  of  intense  suffering.  "  It  is  too 
late  now,  either  to  atone  or  to  explain.  Leave  me,  Senor 
Stanley :  I  am  another's  !" 

'-  Too  late  to  explain  ?  By  heaven  but  thou  shalt !"  burst 
fiercely  and  wrathfully  from  Stanley.  "  Is  it  not  enough  that 
thou  hast  changed  my  whole  nature  into  gall,  made  truth  it 
self  a,  lie,  purity  a  meaningless  word,  but  thou  wilt  shroud 
thyself  under  the  specious  hood  of  duty  to  another,  when, 
before  heaven,  thou  wast  mine  alone.  Speak !" 

"Ay,  I  will  speak — implore  thee  by  the  love  thou  didst 
once  bear  me,  Arthur,  leave  me  now !  I  can  hear  no  more 
to-night." 

"  On  condition  thou  wilt  see  me  in  private  once  again. 
Marie,  thou  darest  not  refuse  me  this  !  Thou  canst  not  have 
so  fallen  as  to  give  no  reason  for  this  most  foul  wrong — fan 
cied  weak,  futile  as  it  may  be.  We  part  now,  but  we  meet 
again  !"  And  with  a  strong  effort  at  control  he  strode  hastily 
from  her. 

The  moon  at  that  moment  breaking  from  thick  clouds, 
4 


74 


THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 


darted  her  full  light  upon  the  pool,  till  it  shone  like  an  illu 
minated  mirror  amidst  the  surrounding  darkness;  and  though 
Arthur  had  disappeared,  its  clear  surface  distinctly  reflected 
the  outline  of  another  closely  shrouded  figure.  Marie  turned 
in  terror,  and  beheld,  gleaming  with  the  triumph  of  a  fiend, 
the  hated  countenance  of  Don  Luis  Garcia.  One  look  told  her 
that  he  had  seen  all,  heard  all ;  but  she  had  no  power  to  speak 
or  move.  Keeping  his  basilisk  gaze  fixed  on  her,  he  with 
drew  backwards  into  the  deep  shade  till  he  had  entirely  dis 
appeared. 

Summoning  all  her  energy,  Marie  fled  back  towards  the 
house,  and  at  the  moment  she  reached  it,  Don  Ferdinand 
crossed  the  deserted  hall. 

"  Marie,  dearest,  here  and  alone  ?  Pale',  too,  and  trem- 
bling  !  In  heaven's  name,  what  hath  chanced  ?" 

A  moment  more,  and  she  would  have  flung  herself  at  his 
feet  and  told  him  all — all,  and  beseeching  his  forgiveness, 
conjure  him  to  shield  her  from  Arthur,  from  herself;  but  as 
she  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  met  its  beaming  animation,  its 
manly  reflection  of  the  pure  gratification  that  evening  had 
bestowed,  how  could  she,  how  dared  she  be  the  one  to  dash  it 
with  woe  ?  And,  overpowered  with  this  fearful  contention 
of  feeling,  she  threw  her  arms  around  him  as  he  bent  tender 
ly  over  her,  and  burying  her  head  in  his  bosom,  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Thou  art  exhausted,  mine  own  love  !  It  has  been  too 
exciting,  too  wearying  a  scene  for  thee.  Why.  what  a  poor, 
weak  girl  thou  art !  How  fortunate  for  thee  that  thy  Queen 
demands  not  thy  constant  attendance,  and  that  thy  huband 
is  not  ambitious  to  behold  thee  shining  in  the  court,  as  thy 
grace  and  beauty  might !  I  am  too  glad  to  feel  thee  all,  all 
my  own.  Smile  on  me,  love,  and  then  to  thy  couch.  A  few 
hours'  quiet  rest,  and  thou  wilt  be  thyself  again."  And  he 
bore  her  himself  with  caressing  gentleness  to  her  apartwe»t. 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  75 


CHAPTER  XL 

'  Then  Roderick  from  the  Douglas  broke, 
As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke, 
Kindling  its  wreaths  long,  dark,  and  low. 
To  one  broad  blaze  of  ruddy  glow ; 
So  the  deep  anguish  of  despair 
Burst  in  fierce  jealousy  to  air." 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

c;  SURE,  now,  Pedro,  the  poor  young  Senor  cannot  be  en 
tirely  in  his  right  mind ;  he  does  nothing  but  tramp,  tramp, 
tramp,  the  whole  night  long,  and  mutters  so  fiercely  to  him 
self,  and  such  dark  words,  it  would  make  one  tremble  were 
they  not  belied  by  his  sweet  face  and  sad  smile,"  was  the  ob 
servation  of  old  Juana  Lopez  to  her  husband  some  ten  days 
after  Arthur  Stanley  had  been  domiciled  in  their  dwelling. 
The  old  man  muttered  something  about  his  being  a  foreigner 
from  the  Wild  Island,  where  they  had  all  been  busy  cutting 
one  another's  throats,  and  what  could  she  expect  otherwise  ?" 

"  Expect?  why  that  he  must  have  become  Spanish  born 
and  bred  since  he  has  been  in  King  Ferdinand's  service  so 
long,  and  was  such  a  boy  when  he  left  England." 

"  Stuff,  woman ;  there's  no  taking  the  foreign  blood  out 
of  him,  try  as  you  will,"  growled  the  old  man,  who  in  com 
mon  with  many  of  his  class,  was  exceedingly  annoyed  that  a 
foreigner  should  possess  so  much  of  the  King's  confidence, 
and  not  a  little  displeased  that  his  dwelling  should  have  been 
fixed  on  for  the  young  officer's  quarters.  "  It  would  not  have 
been  Isabella,  God  bless  her  !  to  have  chosen  such  a  minion  ; 
she  tolerates  him  for  Ferdinand's  sake ;  but  they  will  find  him 
out  one  day.  Saint  lago  forbid  the  evil  don't  fall  first." 

"  Now  that  is  all  prejudice,  Viego  Pedro,  and  you  know 
it.  Bless  his  beautiful  face !  there  is  no  thought  of  evil 
there,  I'd  stake  my  existence.  He  is  tormented  in  his  mind 
about  something,  poor  youth ;  but  his  eyes  are  too  bright 
and  his  smile  too  sad  for  any  thing  evil." 

"  Hold  your  foolish  tongue  :  you  women  think  if  a  man  is 
better  looking  than  his  fellows,  he  is  better  in  every  respect 
— poor  fools  as  ye  are  ;  but  as  for  this  Englisher,  with  such 


76 

a  white  skin  and  glossy  curls,  and  blue  eyes — why  I'd  be 
ashamed  to  show  myself  amongst  men — pshaw — the  woman's 
blind." 

"  Nay,  Viego  Pedro,  prejudice  has  folded  her  kerchief 
round  your  eyes,  not  mine,"  retorted  the  old  dame;  and  their 
war  of  words  concerning  the  merits  and  demerits  of  their 
unconscious  lodger  continued,  till  old  Pedro  grumbled  him 
self  off,  and  his  more  light-hearted  helpmate  busied  herself 
in  preparing  a  tempting  meal  for  her  guest,  which,  to  her 
great  disappointment,  shared  the  fate  of  many  others,  and 
left  his  table  almost  untouched. 

To  attempt  description  of  Stanley's  feelings  would  be  as 
impossible  as  tedious ;  yet  some  few  words  must  be  said. 
His  peculiarly  enthusiastic,  perhaps  romantic  disposition,  had 
caused  him  to  cling  tenaciously  to  the  memory  of  Marie,  even 
after  the  revelation  of  a  secret  which  to  other  men  would 
have  seemed  to  place  an  impassable  barrier  between  them. 
To  Arthur,  difficulties  in  pursuit  of  an  object  only  rendered 
its  attainment  the  more  intensely  desired.  Perhaps  his  hope 
rested  on  the  conviction  not  so  much  of  his  own  faithful  love 
as  on  the  unchangeable  nature  of  hers.  He  might  have 
doubted  himself,  but  to  doubt  her  was  impossible.  Conscious 
himself  that,  wrong  as  it  might  be,  he  could  sacrifice  every 
thing  for  her — country,  rank,  faith  itself,  even  the  prejudice 
of  centuries,  every  thing  but  honor — an  ideal  stronger  in 
the  warrior's  mind  than  even  creed — he  could  not  and  would 
not  believe  that  her  secret  was  to  her  sacred  as  his  honor  to 
him,  and  that  she  could  no  more  turn  renegade  from  the 
fidelity  which  that  secret  comprised,  than  he  could  from  his 
honor.  She  had  spoken  of  but  one  relation,  an  aged  father ; 
and  he  felt  in  his  strong  hopefulness,  that  it  was  only  for 
that  father's  sake  she  had  striven  to  conquer  her  love,  and 
had  told  him  they  might  never  wed,  and  that  when  that  link 
was  broken  he  might  win  her  yet. 

Loving  and  believing  thus,  his  anguish  in  beholding  her 
the  wife  of  another  may  be  imagined.  The  more  he  tried  to 
think,  the  more  confused  and  mystifying  his  thoughts  became. 
Every  interview  which  he  had  with  her,  and  more  especially 
that  in  the  Yale  of  Cedars,  was  written  in  indelible  charaC' 
ters  on  his  heart  and  brain ;  and  while  beholding  her  as  the 
wife  of  Morales  contradicted  their  every  word,  still  it  could 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  77 


not  blot  them  from  his  memory ;  and  he  would  think,  and 
think,  in  the  vain  search  for  but  one  imaginary  reason,  how 
ever  faint,  however  unsatisfactory,  for  her  conduct,  till  his 
brain  turned,  and  his  senses  reeled.  It  was  not  the  mere 
suffering  of  unrequited  love;  it  was  the  misery  of  having  been 
deceived ;  and  then,  when  racked  and  tortured  by  the  impos 
sibility  of  discovering  some  cause  for  this  deceit,  her  secret 
would  flash  across  him,  and  the  wild  thought  arise  that  both 
he  and  Don  Ferdinand  were  victims  to  the  magic  and  the 
sorcery,  by  means  of  which  alone  her  hated  race  could  ever 
make  themselves  beloved. 

Compelled  as  he  was  to  mingle  with  the  Court  as  usual, 
those  powerful  emotions  were  of  course  always  under  strcng 
restraint,  except  when  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  quarters. 
That  when  there  he  should  give  them  vent,  neither  conscious 
of,  nor  caring  for  the  remarks  they  excited  from  his  host  and 
hostess.,  was  not  very  remarkable ;  perhaps  he  was  scarcely 
aware  how  powerfully  dislike  towards  Don  Ferdinand  shared 
his  thoughts  with  his  vain  suggestions  as  to  the  cause  of 
Marie's  falsity.  The  reason  for  this  suddenly  aroused  dislike 
he  could  not  indeed  have  denned,  except  that  Morales  had 
obtained  without  difficulty  a  treasure,  to  obtain  which  he  had 
offered  to  sacrifice  so  much.  So  fourteen  days  passed,  and 
though  firmly  resolved  to  have  one  more  interview  with 
Marie,  no  opportunity  had  presented  itself,  nor  in  fact  could 
he  feel  that  he  had  as  yet  obtained  the  self-command  neces 
sary  for  the  cold,  calm  tone  which  he  intended  to  assume.  It 
happened  that  once  or  twice  the  King  had  made  Arthur  his 
messenger  to  Don  Ferdinand;  but  since  the  night  of  the 
entertainment  he  had  never  penetrated  farther  than  the 
audience  chamber,  there  performed  his  mission  briefly,  and 
departed.  Traversing  the  principal  street  of  Segovia  one 
morning,  he  was  accosted  somewhat  too  courteously,  he 
thought,  for  their  slight  acquaintance,  by  Don  Luis  Garcia. 

"And  whither  so  early,  Senor  Stanley?"  he  inquired  so 
courteously  that  it  could  not  give  offence,  particularly  as  it 
followed  other  queries  of  a  graceful  greeting,  and  was  not 
put  forth  abruptly. 

"  To  the  mansion  of  Don  Ferdinand  Morales,"  replied 
the  young  Englishman,  frankly. 

"Indeed!  from  the  King'£" 


78  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

Stanley  answered  in  the  affirmative,  too  deeply  engrossed 
with  his  own  thoughts,  to  attend  much  to  his  companion, 
whose  interrogations  he  would  undoubtedly  in  a  more  natu 
ral  mood  have  felt  inclined  to  resent. 

"  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  ranks  as  high  in  the  favor  of 
the  people  as  of  the  King — a  marvellous  conjunction  of 
qualities,  is  it  not,  Senor  Stanley  ?"  continued  Garcia,  after 
walking  by  his  side  some  minutes  in  silence.  "  A  Monarch's 
favorite  is  seldom  that  of  his  subjects ;  but  Morales  is  unu 
sually  deserving.  I  wonder  not  at  the  love  he  wins." 

"  Neither  Ferdinand  nor  Isabella  bestows  favors  on  the 
undeserving,"  briefly,  almost  sternly  answered  Stanley,  with 
an  unconscious  change  of  Jione  and  manner,  which  did  not 
escape  his  companion. 

"  And  he  is  so  singularly  fortunate,  every  thing  he  touches 
seems  to  turn  to  gold — an  universal  idol,  possessed  too  of 
such  wealth  and  splendor,  and,  above  all,  with  such  a  being 
to  share  them  with  him.  Fortune  has  marked  him  favored 
in  all  things.  Didst  ever  behold  a  creature  equal  in  loveli 
ness  to  Donna  Marie,  Senor  Stanley?" 

A  momentary,  and  to  any  other  but  Don  Luis,  incom 
prehensible  emotion,  passed  over  the  countenance  of  Stanley 
at  these  words ;  but  though  it  was  instantly  recalled,  and 
indifference  both  in  expression  of  countenance  and  voice  re 
sumed,  it  passed  not  unobserved  ;  and  Don  Luis,  rejoicing 
in  the  pain  he  saw  he  was  inflicting,  continued  an  eloquent 
panegyric  on  the  wife  of  Morales,  the  intense  love  she  bore 
her  husband,  and  the  beautiful  unity  and  harmony  of  their 
wedded  life,  until  they  parted  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
public  entrance  to  Don  Ferdinand's  mansion,  towards  which 
Stanley  turned. 

Don  Luis  looked  after  his  retreating  form,  and  folding 
his  arms  in  his  mantle,  bent  down  his  head,  assuming  an  at 
titude  which  to  passers-by  expressed  the  meek  humility  of 
his  supposed  character.  There  was  a  wild  gleam  of  triumph 
in  his  eyes  which  he  knew,  and  therefore  they  were  thus  bent 
down,  and  there  were  thoughts  in  his  heart  which  might 
thus  be  worded  : — "  I  have  it  all,  all.  Waiting  has  done 
better  for  me  than  acting  ;  but  now  the  watch  is  over,  and 
the  coil  is  laid.  There  have  been  those  who,  standing  on 
the  loftiest  pinnacle,  have  fallen  by  a  touch  to  earth  ;  none 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  79 

knew  the  how  or  wherefore."  And  shrouding  himself  closer 
in  his  wrapping  mantle,  he  walked  rapidly  on  till  he  reached 
a  side  entrance  into  the  gardens,  which  stretched  for  many 
acres  around  Don  Ferdinand's  mansion.  Here  again  he 
paused,  looked  cautiously  around  him,  then  swiftly  entered, 
and  softly  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Already  agitated  by  the  effort  to  retain  calmness  during 
Garcia's  artful  words,  it  was  no  light  matter  for  Stanley  to 
compose  himself  for  his  interview  with  Morales.  Vain  was 
the  gentle  courtesy  of  the  latter,  vain  his  kindly  words,  vain 
his  confidential  reception  of  the  young  Englishman,  to  re 
move  from  Arthur's  heart  the  wild  torrent  of  passion  called 
forth  by  Garcia's  allusion  to  Marie's  intense  love  for  her 
husband.  To  any  one  but  Morales,  his  abrupt  and  uncon 
nected  replies,  his  strange  and  uncourteous  manners,  must 
have  excited  irritation ;  but  Don  Ferdinand  only  saw  that 
the  young  man  was  disturbed  and  pained,  and  for  this  very 
reason  exerted  his  utmost  kindliness  of  words  and  manner 
to  draw  him  from  himself.  They  parted  after  an  interval  of 
about  half  an  hour,  Morales  to  go  to  the  castle  as  requested  ; 
Arthur  to  proceed,  as  he  thought,  to  the  environs  of  the  city. 
But  in  vain  did  he  strive  with  himself.  The  window  of  the 
room  in  which  he  had  met  Don  Ferdinand  looked  into  the 
garden,  and  there,  slowly  pacing  a  shaded  path,  he  had  re 
cognized  the  figure  of  Marie.  The  intense  desire  to  speak 
with  her  once  more,  and  so  have  the  fatal  mystery  solved, 
became  too  powerful  for  control.  Every  feeling  of  honor 
and  delicacy  perished  before  it,  and  hardly  knowing  what  he 
did,  he  retraced  his  steps,  entered  unquestioned,  passed 
through  the  hall  to  the  gardens  beyond,  and  in  less  than  ten 
minutes  after  he  had  parted  from  her  husband,  stood  in  the 
presence  of  Marie. 


80  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS; 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  If  she  be  false,  oh,  then  Heaven  mock  itself! 
I'll  not  believe  it." 

SHAKSFEARE. 

DON  FERDINAND  had  scarcely  quitted  his  mansion  ere  fleet 
steps  resounded  behind  him,  and  turning,  he  beheld  Eon 
Luis  Garcia,  who  greeted  him  with  such  a  marked  expres 
sion,  both  in  voice  and  face,  of  sadness,  that  Morales  invol 
untarily  paused,  and  with  much  commiseration  inquired  what 
had  chanced. 

"  Nothing  of  personal  misfortune,  my  friend  ;  but  there 
are  times  when  the  spirit  is  tortured  by  a  doubtful  duty. 
To  preserve  silence  is  undoubtedly  wrong,  and  may  lead  to 
wrong,  yet  greater ;  and  yet,  to  speak,  is  so  painfully  dis 
tressing  to  my  peace-loving  disposition,  that  I  am  tossed  for 
ever  on  conflicting  impulses,  and  would  gladly  be  guided  by 
another." 

"  If  you  would  be  guided  by  my  counsel,  my  good  friend, 
I  must  entreat  a  clearer  statement,"  replied  Morales,  half 
smiling.  "  You  have  spoken  so  mysteriously,  that  I  cannot 
even  guess  your  meaning.  I  cannot  imagine  one  so  straight 
forward  and  strong-minded  as  yourself  hesitating  and  doubt 
ful  as  to  duty,  of  whatever  nature." 

"Not  if  it  concerned  myself:  but  in  this  case  I  must 
either  continue  to  see  wrong  done,  with  the  constant  dread 
of  its  coming  to  light,  without  my  'interference ;  or  inflict 
anguish  where  I  would  gladly  give  but  joy ;  and  very  pro 
bably,  in  addition,  have  my  tale  disbelieved,  and  myself  con 
demned,  though  for  that  matter,  personal  pain  is  of  no  con 
sequence,  could  I  but  pursue  the  right." 

"  But  how  stands  this  important  case,  my  good  friend  ?" 

"  Thus :  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  discover  that 
one  is  false,  whom  her  doting  husband  believes  most  true — 
that  the  lover  of  her  youth  has  returned,  and  still  holds  her 
imagination  chained — that  she  meets  him  in  secret,  and  has 
appointed  another  clandestine  interview,  from  which  who  may 
tell  the  evil  that  may  ensue  ?  I  would  prevent  this  interview 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  81 

— would  recall  her  to  her  better  nature,  or  put  her  husband 
on  his  guard :  but  how  dare  I  do  this — how  interfere  thus 
closely  between  man  and  wife  ?  Counsel  me,  my  friend,  in 
pity  !" 

"  If  you  have  good  foundation  for  this  charge,  Don  Luis. 
it  is  your  duty  to  speak  out,"  replied  Morales,  gravely. 

"And  to  whom?" 

"  To  the  lawful  guardian  of  this  misguided  one — her  hus 
band." 

"  But  how  can  I  excite  his  anguish — how  turn  his  present 
heaven  of  joy  to  a  very  hell  of  woe,  distrust,  suspicion  ?" 

"Does  the  leech  heed  his  patient's  anguish  when  proling 
a  painful  wound,  or  cutting  away  the  mortified  flesh  ?  His 
office  is  not  enviable,  but  it  is  necessary,  and,  if  feelingly  per 
formed,  we  love  him  not  the  less.  Speak  out.  Don  Luis, 
openly,  frankly,  yet  gently,  to  the  apparently  injured  hus 
band.  Do  more:  counsel  him  to  act  as  openly,  as  gently 
with  his  seemingly  guilty  wife ;  and  that  which  now  appears 
so  dark,  may  be  proved  clear,  and  joy  dawn  again  for  both, 
by  a  few  words  of  mutual  explanation.  But  there  must  be 
no  mystery  on  your  part — no  either  heightening  or  smooth 
ing  what  you  may  have  learnt.  Speak  out  the  simple  truth ; 
insinuate  nought,  for  that  love  is  worthless,  that  husband 
false  to  his  sacred  charge,  if  he  believes  in  guilt  ere  he  ques 
tions  the  accused." 

Don  Luis  looked  on  the  open  countenance  before  him  for 
a  few  minutes  without  reply,  thinking,  not  if  he  should  spare 
him,  but  if  his  plans  might  not  be  foiled,  did  Morales  him 
self  act  as  he  had  said.  But  the  pause  was  not  long :  never 
had  he  read  human  countenance  aright,  if  Arthur  Stanley 
were  not  at  that  moment  with  Marie.  He  laid  his  hand  on 
Don  Ferdinand's  arm,  and  so  peculiar  was  the  expression  on 
his  countenance,  so  low  and  plaintively  musical  the  tone  in 
which  he  said,  "  God  give  you  strength,  my  poor  friend,"  that 
the  rich  color  unconsciously  forsook  the  cheek  of  the  hardy 
warrior,  leaving  him  pallid  as  death ;  and  so  sharp  a  thrill 
passed  through  his  heart,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  retain 
ed  his  feet ;  but  Morales  was  not  merely  physically,  he  was 
mentally  brave.  With  a  powerful,  a  mighty  effort  of  will,  he 
called  life,  energy,  courage  back,  and  said,  sternly  and  unfal 
teringly,  "  Don  Luis  Garcia,  again  I  say,  speak  out !  I  un- 
6 


82  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS ; 

derstand  you ;  it  is  I  who  am  the  apparently  injured  hus 
band.  Marie !  Great  God  of  heaven !  that  man  should 
dare  couple  her  pure  name  with  ignominy !  Marie !  my 
Marie  !  the  seemingly  guilty  wife  !  Well,  put  forth  your 
tale :  I  am  not  the  man  to  shrink  from  my  own  words. 
Speak  truth,  and  I  will  hear  you ;  and — and,  if  I  can,  not 
spurn  you  from  me  as  a  liar  !  Speak  out !" 

Don  Luis  needed  not  a  second  bidding  :  he  had  remarked, 
seen,  and  heard  quite  enough  the  evening  of  Don  Ferdinand's 
banquet,  to  require  nothing  more  than  the  simple  truth,  to 
harrow  the  heart  of  his  hearer,  even  while  Morales  disbeliev 
ed  his  every  word.  Speciously,  indeed,  he  turned  his  own 
mere  suspicions  as  to  Marie's  unhappiness,  and  her  early  love 
for  Arthur,  into  realities,  founded  on  certain  information,  but 
with  this  sole  exception — he  told  but  the  truth.  Without 
moving  a  muscle,  without  change  of  countenance,  or  uttering 
a  syllable  of  rejoinder,  Don  Ferdinand  listened  to  Garcia's 
recital,  fixing  his  large  piercing  eye  on  his  face,  with  a  gaze 
that  none  but  one  so  hardened  in  hypocrisy  could  have  with 
stood.  Once  only  Morales's  features  contracted  for  a  single 
instant,  as  convulsed  by  some  spasm.  It  was  the  recollec 
tion  of  Marie's  passionate  tears,  the  night  of  the  festival ;  and 
yet  she  had  shed  them  on  his  bosom.  How  could  she  be 
guilty  ?  And  the  spasm  passed. 

"  I  have  heard  you,  Don  Luis,"  he  said,  so  calmly,  as  Gar 
cia  ceased,  that  the  latter  started.  "  If  there  be  truth  in 
this  strange  tale,  I  thank  you  for  imparting  it :  if  it  be  false 
— if  you  have  dared  pollute  my  ears  with  one  word  that  has 
no  foundation,  cross  not  my  path  again,  lest  I  be  tempted  to 
turn  and  crush  you  as  I  would  a  loathsome  reptile,  who  in 
very  wantonness  has  stung  me." 

He  turned  from  him  rapidly,  traversed  the  brief  space, 
and  disappeared  within  his  house.  Don  Luis  looked  after 
him  with  a  low,  fiendish  laugh,  and  plunged  once  more  into 
the  gardens. 

"  Is  the  Senora  within  ?"  inquired  Don  Ferdinand,  en 
countering  his  wife's  favorite  attendant  at  the  entrance  of 
Marie's  private  suit  of  rooms ;  and  though  his  cheek  was 
somewhat  pale,  his  voice  was  firm  as  usual.  The  reply  was 
in  the  negative ;  the  Senora  was  in  the  gardens.  "  Alone  1 
Why  are  you  not  with  her  as  usual,  Manuella?" 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  83 

"  I  was  with  her,  my  Lord ;  she  only  dismissed  me  ten 
minutes  ago." 

Without  rejoinder,  Don  Ferdinand  turned  in  the  direc 
tion  she  had  pointed  out.  It  was  a  lovely  walk,  in  the  most 
shaded  parts  of  the  extensive  grounds,  walled  by  alternate 
orange  and  lemon  trees ;  some  with  the  blossom,  germ,  and 
fruit  all  on  one  tree;  others  full  of  the  paly  fruit;  and 
others,  again,  as  wreathed  with  snow,  from  the  profusion  of 
odoriferous  flowers.  An  abrupt  curve  led  to  a  grassy  plot, 
from  which  a  sparkling  fountain  sent  up  its  glistening  show 
ers,  before  a  luxurious  bower,  which  Morales's  tender  care  had 
formed  of  large  and  healthy  slips,  cut  from  the  trees  of  the 
Vale  of  Cedars,  and  flowery  shrubs  and  variegated  moss  from 
the  same  spot ;  and  there  he  had  introduced  his  Marie,  call 
ing  it  by  the  fond  name  of  "  Home !"  As  he  ncared  the 
curve,  voices  struck  on  his  ear — Marie's  and  another's.  She 
was  not  alone  !  and  that  other  ! — could  it  be  ? — nay,  it  was — 
there  was  neither  doubt  nor  hesitation — it  was  his — his — 
against  whom  Don  Luis  had  warned  him.  Was  it  for  this 
Marie  had  dismissed  her  attendant  ?  It  could  not  be  ;  it 
was  mere  accident,  and  Don  Ferdinand  tried  to  go  forward 
to  address  them  as  usual ;  but  the  effort  even  for  him  was 
too  much,  and  he  sunk  down  on  a  rustic  bench  near  him,  and 
burying  his  head  in  his  hands,  tried  to  shut  out  sight  and 
sound  till  power  and  calmness  would  return.  But  though 
he  could  close  his  eyes  on  all  outward  things,  he  could  not 
deaden  hearing;  and  words  reached  him  which,  while  he 
strove  not  to  hear,  seemed  to  be  traced  by  a  dagger's  point 
upon  his  heart,  and  from  very  physical  agony  deprived  him 
of  strength  to  move. 

"  And  thou  wilt  give  me  no  reason — idle,  weak  as  it  must 
be — thou  wilt  refuse  me  even  an  excuse  for  thy  perjury?" 
rung  on  the  still  air,  in  the  excited  tones  of  Arthur  Stanley. 
"  Wealth,  beauty,  power — ay,  they  are  said  to  be  omnipotent 
with  thy  false  sex ;  but  little  did  I  dream  that  it  could  be  so  with 
thee ;  and  in  six  short  months — nay,  less  time,  thou  couldst 
conquer  love,  forget  past  vows,  leap  over  the  obstacle  thou 
saidst  must  part  us,  and  wed  another  !  'Twas  short  space  to 
do  so  much  !"  And  he  laughed  a  bitter,  jibing  laugh. 

"  It  was  short,  indeed  !"  faintly  articulated  Marie ;  u  but 
long  enough  to  bear." 


84 

"  To  bear !"  he  answered ;  "  nay,  what  hadst  thou  to 
bear  ?  The  petted  minion  of  two  mighty  sovereigns,  the  idol 
of  a  nation — came,  and  sought,  and  won — how  couldst  thou 
resist  him  1  What  were  my  claims  to  his — an  exile  and  a 
foreigner,  with  nought  but  my  good  sword,  and  a  love  so  deep, 
so  faithful  (his  voice  softened),  that  it  formed  my  very  being? 
But  what  was  love  to  thee  before  ambition  ?  Oh,  fool,  fool 
that  I  was,  to  believe  a  woman's  tongue — to  dream  that 
truth  could  dwell  in  those  sweet-sounding  words — those  tears, 
that  seemed  to  tell  of  grief  in  parting,  bitter  as  my  own — 
fool,  to  believe  thy  specious  tale  !  There  could  be  no  cause 
to  part  us,  else  wherefore  art  thou  Morales's  wife  ?  Thou 
didst  never  love  me  !  From  the  first  deceived,  thou  calledst 
forth  affection,  to  triumph  in  thy  power,  and  wreck  the  slen^ 
der  joys  left  to  an  exile  !  And  yet  I  love  thee — oh,  God, 
how  deeply !" 

"  Arthur  !"  answered  Marie,  and  her  bloodless  lips  so 
quivered,  they  could  scarcely  frame  the  word — <:  wrong  I  have 
done  thee,  grievous  wrong;  but  oh!  blast  not  my  memory 
with  injuries  I  have  not  inflicted.  Look  back ;  recall  our 
every  interview.  Had  I  intended  to  deceive,  to  call  forth 
the  holiest  feelings  of  the  human  heart,  to  make  them  a 
mock  and  scorn,  to  triumph  in  a  power,  of  whose  very  exist 
ence  till  thou  breathed  love  I  was  unconscious — should  I 
have  said  our  love  was  vain — was  so  utterly  hopless,  we  could 
never  be  other  than  strangers — should  I  have  conjured  thee 
to  leave — aye,  and  to  forget  me.  had  I  not  felt  that  I  loved 
too  well,  and  trembled  for  myself  yet  more  than  for  thee  ? 
Oh,  Arthur,  Arthur,  do  not  add  to  the  bitterness  of  this 
moment  by  unjust  reproaches  !  I  have  injured  thee  enough 
by  my  ill-fated  beauty,  and  too  readily  acknowledged  love : 
but  more  I  have  not  done.  From  the  first  I  said  that  there 
was  a  fate  around  us — thine  I  might  never  be  1" 

"  Then  wherefore  wed  Morales  ?  Is  he  not  as  I  am,  and 
therefore  equally  unmeet  mate  for  thee — if,  indeed,  thy  talc 
be  true  ?  Didst  thou  not  tell  me,  when  I  implored  thee  to 
say  if  thy  hand  was  pledged  unto  another,  that  such  misery 
was  spared  thee — thou  wert  free,  and  free  wouldst  remain 
while  thy  heart  was  mine  ?" 

"  Ay,"  faltered  Marie,  "  thou  rememberest  all  too  well  " 

"  Then  didst  thou  not  deceive  ?     Art  thou  not  as  perjur- 


85 

ed  now  as  I  once  believed  thee  true — as  false  as  thou  art 
lovely  ?     How  couldst  thou  love,  if  so  soon  it  was  as  nought  ?" 

"  Then  believe  me  all  thou  sayest,"  replied  Marie,  more 
firmly — "  believe  me  thus  false  and  perjured,  and  forget  me, 
Senor  Stanley  ;  crush  even  my  memory  from  thy  heart,  and 
give  not  a  thought  to  one  so  worthless  !  Mystery  as  there 
was  around  me  when  we  first  met,  there  is  a  double  veil 
around  me  now,  whieh  I  may  not  lift  even  to  clear  myself 
with  thee.  Turn  thy  love  into  the  scorn  which  my  perjury 
deserves,  and  leave  me." 

"  I  will  not !"  burst  impetuously  from  Arthur,  as  he  sud 
denly  flung  himself  at  her  feet.  "  Marie,  I  will  not  leave 
thee  thus  ;  say  but  that  some  unforeseen  circumstances,  not 
thine  own  will,  made  thee  the  wife  of  this  proud  Spaniard ; 
say  but  that  neither  thy  will  nor  thy  affections  were  consult 
ed,  that  no  word  of  thine  could  give  him  hope  he  was  beloved — 
that  thou  lovest  me  still ;  say  but  this,  and  I  will  bless  thee  !" 

"  Ask  it  not,  Senor  Stanley.  The  duty  of  a  wife  would 
be  of  itself  sufficient  to  forbid  such  words ;  with  me  gratitude 
and  reverence  render  that  duty  more  sacred  still.  Wouldst 
thou  indeed  sink  me  so  low  as,  even  as  a  wife,  to  cease  to 
respect  me  ?  Rise,  Senor  Stanley  !  such  posture  is  unsuited 
to  thee  or  me ;  rise,  and  leave  me ;  we  must  never  meet  alone 
again." 

"  Almost  overpowered  with  contending  emotions,  as  he  was, 
there  was  a  dignity,  the  dignity  of  truth  in  that  brief  appeal, 
which  Arthur  vainly  struggled  to  resist.  She  had  not  at 
tempted  a  single  word  of  exoneration,  and  yet  his  reproaches 
rushed  back  into  his  own  heart  as  cruel  and  unjust,  and  an 
swer  he  had  none.  He  rose  mechanically,  and  as  he  turned 
aside  to  conceal  the  weakness,  a  deep  and  fearful  imprecation 
suddenly  broke  from  him ;  and  raising  her  head,  Marie  be 
held  her  husband. 

Every  softened  feeling  fled  from  Stanley's  breast ;  the 
passionate  anger  which  Marie's  words  had  calmed  towards 
herself,  now  burst  fourth  unrestrained  towards  Morales.  His 
sudden  appearance  bringing  the  conviction  that  he  had  played 
the  spy  upon  their  interview,  roused  his  native  irritation  al 
most  into  madness.  His  sword  flew  from  its  scabbard,  and 
in  fearful  passion  he  exclaimed — "  Tyrant  and  coward  \ 
How  durst  thou  play  the  spy  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that  thou 


ae 


THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS  J 


hast  robbed  me  of  a  treasure  whose  value  thou  canst  never 
know  ?  for  her  love  was  mine  alone  ere  thou  earnest  between 
us,  and  by  base  arts  and  cruel  force  compelled  her  to  be 
thine.  Ha  !  wouldst  thou  avoid  me  ?  refuse  to  cross  my 
sword !  Draw,  or  I  will  proclaim  thee  coward  in  the  face  of 
the  whole  world  !" 

With  a  faint  cry,  Marie  had  thrown  herself  between  them ; 
but  strength  failed  with  the  effort,  and  she  would  have  fallen 
*aad  not  Morales  upheld  her  with  his  left  arm.  But  she  had 
not  fainted  ;  every  sense  felt  wrung  into  unnatural  acuteness 
Except  to  support  her,  Morales  had  made  no  movement ;  his 
tall  figure  was  raised  to  its  fullest  height,  and  his  right  arm 
calmly  uplifted  as  his  sole  protection  against  Arthur.  "  Put 
up  your  sword,"  he  said  firmly,  and  fixing  his  large  dark  eyes 
upon  his  irritated  adversary,  with  a  gaze  far  more  of  sorrow 
than  of  anger,  "  I  will  not  fight  thee.  Proclaim  me  what 
thou  wilt.  I  fear  neither  thy  sword  nor  thee.  Go  hence, 
unhappy  boy ;  when  this  chafed  mood  is  past,  thou  wilt  re 
pent  this  rashness,  and  perchance  find  it  harder  to  forgive 
thyself  than  I  shall  to  forgive  thee.  Go ;  thou  art  over-wrought. 
We  are  not  equals  now." 

Stanley  involuntarily  dropped  the  point  of  his  sword.  "I 
obey  thee,"  he  said,  in  that  deep  concentrated  tone,  which 
betrays  strong  passion  yet  more  than  violent  words ;  "  obey 
thee,  because  I  would  not  strike  an  undefended  foe ;  but  we 
shall  meet  again  in  a  more  fitting  place  and  season.  Till 
then,  hear  me,  Don  Ferdinand  !  We  have  hitherto  been  as 
companions  in  arms,  and  as  friends,  absent  or  together ; 
from  this  moment  the  tie  is  broken,  and  for  ever.  I  am  thy 
foe  !  one  who  hath  sworn  to  take  thy  life,  or  lose  his  own.  I 
will  compel  thee  to  meet  me  !  Ay,  shouldst  thou  shun  me, 
to  the  confines  of  the  world  I  will  track  and  find  thee. 
Coward  and  spy  !  And  yet  men  think  thee  noble  !" 

A  bitter  laugh  of  scorn  concluded  these  fatal  words.  He 
returned  his  sword  violently  to  its  sheath ;  the  tread  of  his 
armed  heel  was  heard  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  all  was 
silent. 

Morales  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  and  Marie  lifted  her 
head  to  look  on  his  face  in  terror.  The  angry  words  of 
Arthur  had  evidently  fallen  either  wholly  unheeded,  or  per 
haps  unheard.  There  was  but  one  feeling  expressed  on  those 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  87 

chiseled  features,  but  one  thought,  but  one   conviction ;  a 
low,  convulsive  sob  broke  from  her.  and  she  fainted  in  his 


arms. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  Why,  when  my  life  on  that  one  hope  .  cast, 
Why  didst  thou  chain  my  future  to  her  past  1 
Why  not  a  breath  to  say  she  loved  before  V 

BULWER. 

"  Oh  leave  me  not !  or  know 
Before  thou  goest,  the  heart  that  wronged  thee  so 
But  wrongs  no  more." 

BULWER. 

IN  the  first  painful  moments  of  awakening  sense,  Marie  was 
only  conscious  of  an  undefined  yet  heavy  weight  on  heart  and 
brain ;  but  as  strength  returned  she  started  up  with  a  faint 
cry,  and  looked  wildly  round  her.  The  absence  of  Morales, 
the  conviction  that  he  had  left  her  to  the  care  of  others,  that 
for  the  first  time  he  had  deserted  her  couch  of  pain,  lighted 
up  as  by  an  electric  flash  the  marvellous  links  of  memory, 
and  the  whole  of  that  morning's  anguish,  every  word  spoken, 
every  feeling  endured,  rushed  back  upon  her  with  such  over 
whelming  force  as  for  the  moment  to  deprive  her  of  the  little 
strength  she  had  regained.  Why  could  she  not  die  ?  was 
the  despairing  thought  that  followed.  What  had  she  to  live 
for,  when  it  was  her  ill  fate  to  wreck  the  happiness  of  all  who 
loved  her?  and  yet  in  that  moment  of  agony  she  never  seem 
ed  to  have  loved  her  husband  more.  It  was  of  him  she 
thought  far  more  than  of  Arthur,  whose  angry  words  and 
fatal  threat  rung  again  and  again  in  her  ears. 

"  My  Lord  had  only  just  left  when  you  recovered  con- 
sciousness,  Senora,"  gently  remarked  her  principal  attend 
ant,  whose  penetration  had  discovered  the  meaning  of  Marie's 
imploring  look  and  passive  silence,  so  far  at  least  that  it  was 
Don  Ferdinand  she  sought,  and  that  his  absence  pained  her. 
"  He  tarried  till  life  seemed  returning,  and  then  reluctantly 


88  THE   VALE  OF    CEDARS ] 

departed  for  the  castle,  where  he  had  been  summoned,  he 
said,  above  an  hour  before." 

"  To  the  castle !"  repeated  Marie  internally.  "  Ay,  ho 
will  do  his  duty,  though  his  heart  be  breaking.  He  will  take 
his  place  and  act  his  part,  and  men  will  report  him  calm, 
wise,  collected,  active  as  his  wont,  and  little  dream  his  wife, 
his  treasured  wife,  has  bowed  his  lofty  spirit  to  the  dust,  and 
laid  low  his  light  of  home.  Tell  me  when  he  returns,"  she 
said  aloud,  "  and  bid  all  leave  me  but  yourself:" 

Two  hours  passed,  and  Marie  lay  outwardly  still  and 
calm,  neither  speaking  nor  employed.  But  at  the  end  of  that 
time  she  started  up  hastily,  resumed  the  robe  which  had  been 
cast  aside,  and  remained  standing,  as  intently  listening  to 
some  distant  sound.  Several  minutes  elapsed,  and  though 
she  had  sunk  almost  unconsciously  on  the  seat  Manuella 
proffered,  it  was  not  till  full  half  an  hour  that  she  spoke. 

"  The  Senor  has  returned,"  she  said  calmly ;  "  bid  Albe- 
ric  hither." 

The  page  came,  and  she  quietly  inquired  if  any  strangers 
had  entered  with  his  master. 

"  No,  Senora,  he  is  alone." 

"  Has  he  long  returned  ?" 

"  Almost  half  an  hour,  Senora.  He  went  directly  to  his 
closet,  desiring  that  he  might  not  be  disturbed." 

Ten  minutes  more,  and  Marie  was  standing  in  her  hus 
band's  presence,  but  unobserved.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
whole  life  had  her  light  step  approached  him  unheard.  For 
two  hours  he  had  borne  a  degree  of  mental  suffering  which 
would  either  have  crushed  or  roused  any  other  man  into 
wildest  fury — borne  it  with  such  an  unflinching  spirit,  that 
in  neither  look  nor  manner,  nor  even  tone,  had  he  departed 
from  his  usual  self,  or  given  the  slightest  occasion  for  re 
mark.  But  the  privacy  of  his  closet  obtained,  the  mighty 
will  gave  way,  and  the  stormy  waves  rolled  over  him,  dead 
ening  every  sense  and  thought  and  feeling,  save  the  one  ab 
sorbing  truth,  that  he  had  never  been  beloved.  Father  and 
child  had  deceived  him ;  for  now  every  little  word,  every 
trifling  occurrence  before  his  marriage  in  the  Vale  of  Cedars 
rushed  back  on  his  mind,  and  Henriquez  imploring  entreaty 
under  all  circumstances  to  love  and  cherish  her  was  ex 
plained. 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  89 

"  Ferdinand  !"  exclaimed  a  voice  almost  inarticulate  from 
sobs ;  and  starting,  he  beheld  his  wife  kneeling  by  his  side. 
"  Oh !  my  husband,  do  not  turn  from  me,  do  not  hate  me. 
I  have  none  but  thee." 

He  tried  to  withdraw  his  hand,  but  the  words,  the  tone, 
unmanned  him,  and  throwing  his  arm  round  her,  he  clasped 
her  convulsively  to  his  heart,  and  she  felt  his  slow  scalding 
tears  fall  one  by  one,  as  wrung  from  the  heart's  innermost 
depths,  upon  her  cheek. 

For  several  minutes  there  was  silence.  The  strong  man's 
emotion  is  as  terrible  to  witness  as  terrible  to  feel.  Marie 
was  the  first  to  regain  voice ;  and  in  low  beseeching  accents 
she  implored  him  to  listen  to  her — to  hear  ere  he  condemned. 

"  Not  thus,"  was  his  sole  reply,  as  he  tried  to  raise  her 
from  her  kneeling  posture  to  the  cushion  by  his  side. 

"  Yes,  thus  my  husband.  I  will  not  rise  till  thou  say'st 
thou  canst  forgive ;  wilt  take  the  loving  and  the  weak  back 
to  thy  heart,  if  not  to  love  as  thou  hast  loved,  to  strengthen 
and  forgive.  I  have  not  wronged  thee.  Were  I  false  in 
word  or  thought  I  would  not  kneel  to  ask  forgiveness,  but 
crawl  to  thy  feet  and  die !  If  thou  couldst  but  know  the 
many,  many  times  I  have,  longed  to  confess  all ;  the  agony 
to  receive  thy  fond  caress,  thy  trusting  confidence,  and  know 
myself  deceiving;  the  terror  lest  thou  shouldst  discover 
aught  from  other  than  myself;  oh  !  were  it  not  for  thy  deep 
woe,  I  could  bless  this  moment,  bidding  me  speak  Truth  once 
more !" 

"  And  say  thou  hast  never  loved  me  ?  Wert  true  from 
duty,  not  from  love  ?  Marie,  can  I  bear  this  ?" 

"  Yes — for  I  do  love  thee.  Oh  !  my  husband,  I  turn  to 
thee  alone,  under  my  God,  for  rest  and  peace.  If  I  might  not 
give  thee  the  wild  passions  of  my  youth,  when  my  heart  was 
sought,  and  won  ere  I  was  myself  conscious  of  the  precipice 
I  neared,  I  cling  to  thee  now  alone — I  would  be  thine  alone. 
Oh,  take  me  to  thy  heart,  and  let  me  lie  there.  Ferdinand, 
Ferdinand  !  forgive  me  ! — love — save  me  from  myself  1" 

"  Ay,  now  and  ever  !  Come  to  my  heart,  beloved  one  !" 
answered  her  husband,  rousing  himself  from  all  of  personal 
suffering  to  comfort  her ;  and  he  drew  her  to  him  till  her 
head  rested  on  his  bosom.  "  Now  tell  me  thy  sorrowing  tale, 
to  me  so  wrapt  in  mystery.  Fear  not  from  me.  It  is  enough 
thou  clingest  to  me  in  such  sweet  guileless  confidence  still." 


90  THE   VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

She  obeyed  him ;  and  the  heavy  weight  of  suffering  years 
semed  lightening  as  she  spoke.  From  her  first  meeting 
Arthur,  to  that  morning's  harrowing  interview,  every  feeling, 
every  incident,  every  throb  of  reproach  and  dread  were  re 
vealed  with  such  touching  and  childlike  truth,  that  even  in  his 
suffering,  Morales  unconsciously  clasped  his  wife  closer  and 
closer  to  him,  as  if  her  very  confidence  and  truth  rendered 
her  yet  dearer  than  before,  and  inexpressibly  soothed  at  the 
very  moment  that  they  pained.  Their  interview  was  long, 
but  fraught  with  mutual  comfort.  Morales  had  believed, 
when  he  entered  his  closet  that  day,  that  a  dense  cloud  was 
folded  round  him,  sapping  the  very  elements  of  life ;  but 
though  he  still  felt  as  if  he  had  received  some  heavy  physical 
blow,  the* darkness  had  fled  from  his  spirit,  and  light  dawned 
anew  for  both,  beneath  the  heavenly  rays  of  openness  and 
Truth. 

"  And  Arthur  ?"  Marie  said,  as  that  long  commune  came 
to  a  close;  and  she  looked  up  with  the  fearless  gaze  of  integ 
rity  in  her  husband's  face.  "  Thou  wilt  forgive  him,  Ferdi 
nand?  he  knew  not  what  he  said." 

"  Trust  me,  beloved  one.  I  pity  and  forgive  him.  He 
shall  learn  to  love  me,  despite  himself." 

Great  was  the  astonishment  and  terrible  the  disappoint 
ment  of  Don  Luis  Garcia  at  the  visible  failure  of  one  portion 
of  his  nefarious  schemes.  Though  seldom  in  Don  Ferdi 
nand's  actual  presence,  he  was  perfectly  aware  that  instead 
of  diminishing,  Morales'  confidence  in  and  love  for  his  wife 
had  both  increased,  and  that  Marie  was  happier  and  more 
quietly  at  rest  than  she  had  been  since  her  marriage.  But 
though  baffled,  Garcia  was  not  foiled.  The  calm,  haughty 
dignity  which,  whenever  they  did  chance  to  meet,  now  cha 
racterized  Don  Ferdinand's  manner  towards  him  ;  the  brief, 
stern  reply,  if  words  were  actually  needed ;  or  complete 
silence,  betraying  as  it  did  the  utter  contempt  and  scorn 
with  which  his  crafty  design  was  regarded,  heightened  his 
every  revengeful  feeling,  and  hastened  on  his  plans. 

Two  or  three  weeks  passed :  a  calm  security  and  peace 
ful  happiness  had  taken  the  place  of  storm  and  dread  in  Ma 
rie's  heart.  She  felt  that  it  had  been  a  secret  consciousness 
of  wrong  towards  her  husband,  the  dread  of  discovery  occa 
sioning  estrangement,  the  constant  fear  of  encountering 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  91 

Stanley,  which  had  weighed  on  her  heart  far  more  than  for 
mer  feelings ;  and  now  that  the  ordeal  was  past,  that  all  was 
known,  and  she  could  meet  her  husband's  eye  without  one 
thought  concealed ;  now  that  despite  of  all  he  could  love  and 
cherish,  aye,  trust  her  still,  she  clung  to  him  with  love  as 
pure  and  fond  and  true  as  ever  wife  might  feel ;  and  her 
only  thought  of  Stanley  was  prayer  that  peace  might  also 
dawn  for  him.  It  was  pain  indeed  to  feel  that  the  real  rea 
son  of  her  wedding  Ferdinand  must  for  ever  remain  con 
cealed.  Could  that  have  been  spoken,  one  little  sentence 
said,  all  would  have  been  explained,  and  Stanley's  bitter  feel 
ings  soothed. 

It  was  the  custom  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  to  gather 
around  them,  about  once  a  month,  the  wisest  and  the  ablest 
of  their  realm — sometimes  to  hold  council  on  public  matters, 
at  others  merely  in  friendly  discussion  on  various  subjects 
connected  with  politics,  the  church,  or  war.  In  these  meet 
ings  merit  constituted  rank,  and  mind  nobility.  They  com 
menced  late,  and  continued  several  hours  through  the  night. 
To  one  of  these  meetings  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  had  re 
ceived  a  summons  as  usual.  As  the  day  neared,  he  became 
conscious  of  a  strange,  indefinable  sensation  taking  posses 
sion  of  heart  and  mind,  as  impossible  to  be  explained  as  to 
be  dismissed.  It  was  as  if  some  impassable  and  invisible, 
but  closely-hovering  evil  were  connected  with  the  day,  blind 
ing  him — as  by  a  heavy  pall — to  all  beyond.  He  succeeded 
in  subduing  the  ascendency  of  the  sensation,  in  some  meas 
ure,  till  the  day  itself;  when,  as  the  hours  waned,  it  became 
more  and  more  overpowering.  As  he  entered  his  wife's 
apartment,  to  bid  her  farewell  ere  he  departed  for  the  castle, 
it  rose  almost  to  suffocation  in  his  throat,  and  he  put  his  arm 
round  her  as  she  stood  by  the  widely-opened  casement,  and 
remained  by  her  side  several  minutes  without  speaking. 

"  Thou  art  not  going  to  the  castle  yet,  dearest  ?"  she  in  • 
quired.  "  Is  it  not  much  earlier  than  usual  ?" 

"  Yes,  love ;  but  I  shall  not  ride  to-night.  I  feel  so 
strangely  oppressed,  that  I  think  a  quiet  walk  in  the  night 
air  will  recover  me  far  more  effectually  than  riding." 

Marie  looked  up  anxiously  in  his  face.  He  was  very  pale, 
and  his  hair  was  damp  with  the  moisture  on  his  forehead. 
u  Thou  art  unwell,"  she  exclaimed ;  "  do  not  go  to-night,  dear- 


92  THE    VALE   OF   CEDARS ; 

est  Ferdinand, — stay  with  me.     Thy  presence  is  not  so  im 
peratively  needed." 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  must  go,  love, 
for  I  have  no  excuse  to  stay  away.  I  wish  it  were  any  other 
night,  indeed,  for  I  would  so  gladly  remain  with  thee  ;  but 
the  very  wish  is  folly.  I  never  shrunk  from  the  call  of  duty 
before,  and  cannot  imagine  what  has  come  over  me  to-night ; 
but  I  would  sacrifice  much  for  permission  to  stay  within.  Do 
not  look  so  alarmed,  love,  the  fresh  air  will  remove  this  vague 
oppression,  and  give  me  back  myself." 

"  Fresh  air  there  is  none,"  replied  his  young  wife ;  '  tZie 
stillness  is  actually  awful — not  a  leaf  moves,  nor  a  breeze 
stirs.  It  seems  too,  more  than  twilight  darkness ;  as  if  a 
heavy  storm  were  brooding." 

"  It  may  be ;  oppression  in  the  air  is  often  the  sole  cause 
of  oppression  in  the  mind.  I  should  be  almost  glad  if  it 
came,  to  explain  this  sensation." 

"  But  if  thou  must  go,  thou  wilt  not  loiter,  Ferdinand." 

"  Why — fearest  thou  the  storm  will  harm  me,  love  ?  Nay, 
I  have  frightened  thee  into  foreboding.  Banish  it,  or  I  shall 
be  still  more  loth  to  say  farewell !" 

He  kissed  her,  as  if  to  depart,  but  still  he  lingered  though 
neither  spoke ;  and  then,  as  with  an  irresistible  and  passion 
ate  impulse,  he  clasped  her  convulsively  to  his  heart,  and 
murmuring  hoarsely,  "  God  for  ever  and  ever  bless  thee,  my 
own  beloved  !"  released  her,  and  was  gone. 

On  quitting  his  mansion  and  entering  the  street,  the 
dense  weight  of  the  atmosphere  became  more  and  more  ap 
parent.  The  heat  was  so  oppressive  that  the  streets  were 
actually  deserted — even  the  artisans  had  closed  their  stores ; 
darkness  had  fallen  suddenly,  shrouding  the  beautiful  twi 
light  peculiar  to  Spain  as  with  a  pall.  Morales  unconsciously 
glanced  towards  the  west,  where,  scarcely  half-an-hour  be 
fore,  the  sun  had  sunk  gloriously  to  rest ;  and  there  all  was 
not  black.  Resting  on  the  edge  of  the  hill,  was  a  far-spread 
ing  crimson  cloud,  not  the  rosy  glow  of  sunset,  but  the  color 
of  blood.  So  remarkable  was  its  appearance,  that  Don  Fer 
dinand  paused  in  involuntary  awe.  The  blackness  closed 
gradually  round  it ;  but  much  decreased,  and  still  decreas 
ing  in  size,  it  floated  onwards — preserving  its  blood-red  hue, 
in  appalling  contrast  with  the  murky  sky.  Slowly  Morales 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  93 

turned  in  the  direction  of  the  castle,  glancing  up  at  times, 
and  unable  to  suppress  a  thrill  of  supernatural  horror,  as  he 
observed  this  remarkable  appearance  floating  just  before  him 
wherever  he  turned.  Denser  and  denser  became  the  atmos 
phere,  and  blacker  the  sky,  till  he  could  not  see  a  single  yard 
before  him ;  thunder  growled  in  the  distance,  and  a  few  vivid 
flashes  of  lightning  momentarily  illumined  the  gloom,  but 
still  the  cloud  remained.  Its  course  became  swifter  ;  but  it 
decreased  in  size,  floating  onwards,  till,  to  Morales'  strained 
gaze,  it  appeared  to  remain  stationary  over  one  particularly 
lonely  part  of  the  road,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Calle 
Soledad,  which  he  was  compelled  to  pass ;  becoming  smaller 
and  smaller,  till,  as  he  reached  the  spot,  it  faded  into  utter 
darkness,  and  all  around  was  black. 

That  same  evening,  about  an  hour  before  sunset,  Arthur 
Stanley,  overpowered  by  the  heat,  and  exhausted  with  some 
fatiguing  military  duties,  hastily  unbuckled  his  sword,  flung 
it  carelessly  from  him,  and,  drinking  off  a  large  goblet  of 
wine,  which,  as  usual,  stood  ready  for  him  on  his  table,  threw 
himself  on  his  couch,  and  sunk  into  a  slumber  so  profound 
that  he  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe.  How  he  had  passed 
the  interval  which  had  elapsed  since  his  interview  with  Ma 
rie  and  her  husband,  he  scarcely  knew  himself.  His  mili 
tary  duties  were  performed  mechanically,  a  mission  for  the 
king  to  Toledo  successfully  accomplished ;  but  he  himself 
was  conscious  only  of  one  engrossing  thought,  which  no  cool 
ing  and  gentler  temper  had  yet  come  to  subdue.  I*i  was  a 
relief  to  acquit  Marie  of  intentional  falsehood — a  relief  to 
have  some  imaginary  object  on  which  to  vent  bitterness  and 
anger  ;  and  headstrong  and  violent  without  control  or  guide, 
when  his  passions  were  concerned,  he  encouraged  every  an 
gry  feeling  against  Morales,  caring  neither  to  define  nor  sub 
due  them,  till  the  longing  to  meet  him  in  deadly  combat,  and 
the  how  to  do  so,  became  the  sole  and  dangerous  occupation 
of  heart  and  mind. 

Stanley's  heavy  and  unnatural  sleep  had  lasted  some 
hours,  when  he  was  suddenly  and  painfully  awakened  by  so 
loud  and  long  a  peal  of  thunder  that  the  very  house  seemed 
to  rock  and  shake  with  the  vibration.  He  started  up  on  his 
couch  ;  but  darkness  was  around  him  so  dense  that  he  could 
not  distinguish  a  single  object.  This  sleep  had  been  unr£ 


94 

freshing,  and  so  heavy  an  oppression  rested  on  his  chest, 
that  he  felt  as  if  confined  in  a  close  cage  of  iron.  He  waved 
his  arms  to  feel  if  he  were  indeed  at  liberty.  He  moved  in 
free  air,  but  the  darkness  seemed  to  suffocate  him ;  and 
springing  up,  he  groped  his  way  to  the  window,  and  flung  it 
open.  Feverish  and  restless,  the  very  excitement  of  the 
night  seemed  to  urge  him  forth,  thus  to  disperse  the  oppres 
sive  weight  within.  A  flash  of  lightning  playing  on  the  pol 
ished  sheath  of  his  sword,  he  secured  it  to  his  side,  ard 
threw  his  mantle  over  his  shoulders.  As  he  did  so  his  hand 
came  in  contact  with  the  upper  part  of  the  she.ath,  from 
which  the  hilt  should  have  projected ;  but,  to  his  astonish 
ment  and  alarm,  no  hilt  was  there — the  sheath  was  empty. 

In  vain  he  racked  his  memory  to  ascertain  whether  h<s 
had  left  his  sword  in  its  scabbard,  or  had  laid  the  naked 
blade,  as  was  his  custom,  by  him  while  he  slept.  The  more 
he  tried  to  think  the  more  confused  his  thoughts  became. 
His  forehead  felt  circled  with  burning  iron,  his  lips  were  dry 
and  parched,  his  step  faltering  as  if  under  the  influence  of 
some  potent  spell.  He  called  for  a  light,  but  his  voice  sound 
ed  in  his  own  ears  thick  and  unnatural,  and  no.  one  answered. 
His  aged  hosts  had  retired  to  rest  an  hour  before,  and  though 
they  had  noticed  and  drew  their  own  conclusions  from  his 
agitated  movements,  his  call  was  unregarded.  In  five  minutes 
more  they  heard  him  rush  from  the  house  j  and  anxious  as 
she  was  to  justify  all  the  ways  and  doings  of  her  handsome 
lodger,  old  Juanna  was  this  night  compelled  to  lean  to  her 
husband's  ominously  expressed  belief,  that  no  one  would 
voluntarily  go  forth  on  such  an  awful  night,  save  for  deeds 
of  evil. 

His  rapid  pace  and  open  path  were  illumined  every  al 
ternate  minute  with  the  vivid  lightning,  and  the  very  excite 
ment  of  the  storm  partially  removed  the  incomprehensible 
sensations  under  which  Stanley  labored.  He  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  castle,  perhaps  with  the  unconfessed  hope  of 
meeting  some  of  his  companions  in  arms  returning  from  the 
royal  meeting,  and  in  their  society  to  shake  off  the  spell 
which  chained  him.  As  he  neared  the  Calle  Soledad  the 
ground  suddenly  became  slippery,  as  with  some  thick  fluid, 
of  what  nature  the  dense  darkness  prevented  his  discovering, 
his  foot  came  in  contact  with  some  heavy  substance  lying 


OR.,   THE   MARTYR.  95 

right  across  his  path.  He  stumbled  and  fell,  and  his  dress 
and  hands  became  literrally  dyed  with  the  same  hue  as  the 
ground.  He  started  up  in  terror ;  a  long  vivid  flash  linger 
ing  more  than  a  minute  in  the  air,  disclosed  the  object  against 
which  he  had  fallen  ;  and  paralyzed  with  horror,  pale,  ghastly, 
as  if  suddenly  turned  to  stone,  he  remained.  He  uttered  no 
word  nor  cry ;  but  flash  after  flash  played  around  him,  and 
still  beheld  him  gazing  in  stupefied  and  motionless  horror  on 
the  appalling  sight  before  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

1st  MONK. — The  storm  increases ;  hark !  how  dismally 

It  sounds  along  the  cloisters ! 
******** 

BERNARD.— As  on  I  hastened,  bearing  thus  my  light, 
Across  my  path,  not  fifty  paces  off, 
I  saw  a  murdered  corse,  stretched  on  its  back. 
Smeared  with  new  blood,  as  though  but  freshly  slain. 

JOANNA  BAILLIE. 

THE  apartment  adjoining  the  council-room  of  the  castle,  and 
selected  this  night  as  the  scene  of  King  Ferdinand's  banquet, 
was  at  the  commencement  of  the  storm  filled  with  the  ex 
pected  guests.  From  forty  to  fifty  were  there  assembled, 
chosen  indiscriminately  from  the  Castilians  and  Arragonese, 
the  first  statesmen  and  bravest  warriors  of  the  age.  But  the 
usual  animated  discussion,  the  easy  converse,  and  eager 
council,  had  strangely,  and  almost  unconsciously,  sunk  into 
a  gloomy  depression,  so  universal  and  profound,  that  every 
effort  to  break  from  it,  and  resume  the  general  topics  of 
interest,  was  fruitless.  The  King  himself  was  grave  almost 
to  melancholy,  though  more  than  once  he  endeavored  to 
shake  it  off,  and  speak  as  usual.  Men  found  themselves 
whispering  to  each  other  as  if  they  feared  to  speak  aloud — as 
if  some  impalpable  and  invisible  horror  were  hovering  round 
them.  It  might  have  been  that  the  raging  storm  without 
affected  all  within,  with  a  species  of  awe,  to  which  even  the 


96  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS ; 

wisest  and  the  bravest  are  liable  when  the  Almighty  utters 
His  voice  in  the  tempest,  and  the  utter  nothingness  of  men 
conies  home  to  the  proudest  heart.  But  there  was  another 
cause.  One  was  missing  from  the  council  and  the  board ; 
the  seat  of  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  was  vacant,  and  unuttered 
but  absorbing  anxiety  occupied  every  mind.  It  was  full  two 
hours,  rather  more,  from  the  given  hour  of  meeting;  the 
council  itself  had  been  delayed,  and  was  at  length  held  with 
out  him,  but  so  unsatisfactory  did  it  prove,  that  many  subjects 
were  postponed.  They  adjourned  to  the  banquet-room  ;  but 
the  wine  circled  but  slowly,  and  the  King  leant  back  on  his 
chair,  disinclined  apparently  for  either  food  or  drink. 

"  The  storm  increases  fearfully,"  observed  the  aged  Duke 
of  Murcia,  a  kinsman  of  the  King,  as  a  flash  of  lightning 
blazed  through  the  casements,  of  such  extraordinary  length 
and  brilliance,  that  even  the  numerous  lustres,  with  which 
the  room  was  lighted,  looked  dark  when  it  disappeared.  It 
was  followed  by  a  peal  of  thunder,  loud  as  if~a  hundred 
cannons  had  been  discharged  above  their  heads,  and  causing 
several  glasses  to  be  shivered  on  the  board.  "  Unhappy  those 
compelled  to  brave  it." 

"  Nay,  better  out  than  in,"  observed  another.  "  There  is 
excitement  in  witnessing  its  fury,  and  gloom  most  depressing 
in  listening  to  it  thus." 

u  Perchance  'tis  the  shadow  of  the  coming  evil,"  rejoined 
Don  Felix  d'Estaban.  "  Old  legends  say,  there  is  never  a 
storm  like  this,  without  bringing  some  national  evil  on  its 
wings." 

"  Ha  !  say  they  so  ?"  demanded  the  King,  suddenly,  that 
his  guests  started.  "  And  is  there  truth  in  it  ?" 

"  The  lovers  of  such  marvels  would  bring  your  Grace 
many  proofs  that  some  calamity  always  followed  such  a 
tempest,"  replied  Don  Felix.  "It  may  or  may  not  be.  For 
my  own  part,  I  credit  not  such  things.  We  are  ourselves  the 
workers  of  evil — no  fatality  lurking  in  storms." 

"  Fated  or  casual,  if  evil  has  occurred  to  Don  Ferdinand 
Morales,  monarch  and  subject  will  alike  have  cause  to  asso 
ciate  this  tempest  with  national  calamity,"  answered  the 
King,  betraying  at  once  the  unspoken,  but  engrossing  sub 
ject  of  his  thoughts.  "Who  saw  him  last?" 

Don  Felix  d'Estaban  replied  that  he  had  seen  him  that 
day  two  hours  before  sunset. 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  97 

"  And  where,  my  Lord — at  home  or  abroad  ?" 

"  In  his  own  mansion,  which  he  said  he  had  not  quitted 
that  day,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"  And  how  seemed  he  ?     In  health  as  usual  ?" 

"  Ay,  my  liege,  save  that  he  complained  of  a  strange  op 
pressiveness,  disinclining  him  for  all  exertion." 

'  Did  he  allude  to  the  council  of  to-night  ?" 

"  He  did,  my  Lord,  rejoicing  that  he  should  be  compelled 
to  rouse  himself  from  his  most  unwonted  mood  of  idleness." 

"  Then  some  evil  has  befallen  him,"  rejoined  the  King ; 
and  the  contraction  of  his  brow  denied  the  calmness, 
implied  by  his  unmoved  tone.  "  We  have  done  wrong  in 
losing  all  this  time,  Don  Alonzo,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
Senor  of  Aguilar,  "  give  orders  that  a  band  of  picked  men 
scour  every  path  leading  hence  to  Morales'  mansion :  head 
them  thyself,  an  thou  wilt,  we  shall  the  more  speedily  receive 
tidings.  Thine  eyes  have  been  more  fixed  on  Don  Ferdi 
nand's  vacant  seat,  than  on  the  board  this  last  hour;  so 
hence,  and  speed  thee,  man.  It  may  be  he  is  ill :  we  have 
seen  men  stricken  unto  death  from  one  hour  to  the  other.  If 
there  be  no  trace  of  him  in  either  path,  hie  thee  to  his  man 
sion  ;  but  return  not  without  news.  Impalpable  evil  is  ever 
worse  than  the  tangible  and  real." 

Don  Alonzo  scarcely  waited  the  conclusion  of  the  King's 
speech,  so  eager  was  he  to  depart ;  and  the  longing  looks 
cast  after  him  betrayed  how  many  would  have  willingly  join 
ed  him  in  his  search. 

{J  Hir-  wife  ?"  repeated  the  King,  in  answer  to  some  sug 
gestions  of  his  kinsman's.  "  Nay,  man ;  hast  thou  yet  to 
learn,  that  Morales'  heart  would  break  ere  he  would  neglect 
his  duty  ?  No  :  physical  incapacity  would  alone  have  suffi 
cient  power  to  keep  him  from  us — no  mental  ill." 

If  the  effort  to  continue  indifferent  conversation  had  been 
difficult  before,  it  now  became  impossible.     The  very  silence 
felt  ominous.     What  evil  could  have  befallen?   was  asked 
internally  by  each  individual ;    but  the  vague  dread,  the  un% 
defined  horror  of  something  terrible   impending,  prevented 
all   reply ;    and   so  nearly  an   hour   passed,  when,  far   re 
moved  as  was  the  council-room  from  the  main  body  of  thA 
castle,  a  confusion  as  of  the  entrance  of  many  feet,  and  the 


98 

tumultuary  sound  of  eager  voices,  was  distinguished,  seem 
ing  to  proceed  from  the  great  hall. 

"  It  cannot  be  Don  Alonzo  so  soon  returned,"  remarked 
the  Duke  of  Murcia  ;  but  even  as  he  spoke,  and  before  the 
King  had  time  to  make  an  impatient  sign  for  silence,  so  in 
tently  was  he  listening,  the  Lord  of  Aguilar  himself  re-en 
tered  the  apartment. 

"  Saints  of  heaven  !"  ejaculated  the  King,  and  his  exclama 
tion  was  echoed  involuntarily  by  all  around.  The  cheek  of 
the  warrior,  never  known  to  blanch  before,  was  white  as 
death  ;  his  eye  haggard  and  wild ;  his  step  so  faltering,  that 
his  whole  frame  reeled.  He  sunk  on  the  nearest  seat,  and, 
with  a  shuddering  groan,  pressed  both  hands  before  his  eyes, 

"  Wine  !  wine  !  give  him  wine  !"  cried  Ferdinand  impet 
uously,  pushing  a  brimming  goblet  towards  him.  "  Drink, 
man,  and  speak,  in  Heaven's  name.  What  frightful  object 
hast  thou  seen,  to  bid  thee  quail,  who  never  quailed  before  1 
Where  is  Morales  ?  Hast  thou  found  him  ?" 

"  Ay,"  muttered  Don  Alonzo,  evidently  struggling  to  re 
call  his  energies,  while  the  peculiar  tone  of  the  single  mono 
syllable  caused  every  heart  to  shudder. 

"  And  where  is  he  ?  Why  came  he  not  hither  ?  Why 
neglect  our  royal  summons  ?"  continued  the  King,  hurrying 
question  after  question  with  such  an  utter  disregard  of  his 
usual  calm,  imperturbable  cautiousness,  that  it  betrayed  far 
more  than  words  how  much  he  dreaded  the  Senor's  reply. 
"  Speak,  man  ;  what  has  detained  him  ?" 

"  Death  /"  answered  the  warrior,  his  suppressed  grief  and 
horror  breathing  in  his  hollow  voice  ;  and  rising,  he  ap 
proached  the  King's  seat,  and  kneeling  down,  said  in  that 
low,  concentrated  tone,  which  reaches  every  ear,  though 
scarce  louder  than  a  whisper,  "  Sire,  he  is  murdered  !" 

"  Murdered !"  reiterated  the  King,  as  the  word  was 
echoed  in  all  the  various  intonations  of  horror,  grief,  and  in 
dignation  from  all  around ;  and  he  laid  his  hand  heavily  on 
Aguilar's  shoulder — "Man,  man,  how  can  this  be?  Who 
would  dare  lift  up  the  assassin's  hand  against  him — him,  the 
favorite  of  our  subjects  as  of  ourselves  ?  Who  had  cause  of 
Ifenmity — of  even  rivalship  with  him  ?  Thou  art  mistaken, 
man  ;  it  cannot  be  !  Thou  art  scared  with  the  sight  of  mur 
der,  and  no  marvel;  but  it  cannot  be  Morales  thou  hast 
seen." 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  99 

"  Alas  !  my  liege,  I  too  believed  it  not ;  but  the  murder 
ed  corpse  now  lying  in  the  hall  will  be  too  bloody  witness  of 
my  truth." 

The  King  released  his  hold,  and  without  a  word  of  re 
joinder,  strode  from  the  apartment,  and  hastily  traversing 
the  long  galleries,  and  many  stairs,  neither  paused  nor 
spoke,  till,  followed  by  all  his  nobles,  he  reached  the  hall.  It 
was  filled  with  soldiers,  who.  with  loud  and  furious  voices, 
mingled  execrations  deep  and  fearful  on  the  murderer, 
with  bitter  lamentations  on  the  victim.  A  sudden  and 
respectful  hush  acknowledged  the  presence  of  the  Sovereign ; 
Ferdinand's  brows  were  darkly  knit,  his  lip  compressed,  his 
eyes  flashing  sternly  over  the  dense  crowd  ;  but  he  asked  no 
question,  nor  relaxed  his  hasty  stride  till  he  stood  beside  the 
litter  on  which,  covered  with  a  mantle,  the  murdered  One 
was  lying.  For  a  single  minute  he  evidently  paused,  and  his 
countenance,  usually  so  controlled  as  never  to  betray  emo 
tion,  visibly  worked  with  some  strong  feeling,  which  seemed 
to  prevent  the  confirmation  of  his  fears,  by  the  trifling 
movement  of  lifting  up  the  mantle.  But  at  length,  and  with 
a  hurried  movement,  it  was  cast  aside  ;  and  there  lay  that 
noble  form,  cold,  rigid  in  death !  The  King  pushed  the 
long,  jetty  hair,  now  clotted  with  gore,  from  the  cheek  on 
which  it  had  fallen ;  and  he  recognized,  too  well,  the  high, 
thoughtful  brow,  now  white,  cold  as  marble  ;  the  large,  dark 
eye,  whose  fixed  and  glassy  stare  had  so  horribly  replaced 
the  bright  intelligence,  the  sparkling  lustre  so  lately  there. 
The  clayey,  sluggish  white  of  death  was  already  on  his 
cheek ;  his  lip,  convulsively  compressed,  and  the  left  hand 
tightly  clenched,  as  if  the  soul  had  not  been  thus  violently 
reft  from  the  body,  without  a  strong  pang  of  mortal  agony. 
His  right  hand  had  stiffened  round  the  hilt  of  his  unsheath 
ed  sword,  for  the  murderous  blow  had  been  dealt  from  be 
hind,  and  with  such  fatal  aim,  that  death  must  have  been 
almost  instantaneous,  and  the  tight  grasp  of  his  sword  the 
mere  instinctive  movement  of  expiring  nature.  Awe-struck, 
chilled  to  the  heart,  did  the  noble  friends  of  the  departed 
gather  round  him.  On  the  first  removal  of  the  mantle,  an 
irresistible  yell  of  curses  on  the  murderer  burst  forth  from 
the  soldiery,  wrought  into  fury  at  thus  beholding  their 
almost  idolized  commander ;  but  the  stern  woe  on  the  Sov 


100  THE    VALE    OF   CEDARS J 

ereign's  face  hushed  them  into  silence ;  and  the  groan  of 
grief  and  horror  which  escaped  involuntarily  from  Ferdi 
nand's  lips,  was  heard  throughout  the  hall. 

"  The  murderer  ?"  at  length  demanded  many  of  the  nobles 
at  the  same  moment.  "Who  has  dared  do  this  awful  deed? 
Don  Alonzo,  is  there  no  clue  to  his  person — no  trace  of  his 
path?" 

"  There  is  trace  and  clue  enough,"  was  the  brief  and 
stern  reply.  "  The  murderer  is  secured  !" 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  King,  roused  at  once  ;  "  secured, 
sayest  thou  ?  In  our  bitter  grief  we  had  well-nigh  forgotten 
justice.  Bring  forth  the  dastardly  craven  ;  we  would  de 
mand  the  reason  of  this  cowardly  blow  ere  we  condemn  him 
to  the  death  of  torture  which  his  crime  demands.  Let  him 
confront  his  victim.  Why  do  you  pause,  my  Lord  ?  Pro 
duce  the  murderer." 

Still  Don  Alonzo  stood  irresolute,  and  a  full  minute  pass 
ed  ere  he  signed  to  the  men  who  had  accompanied  him.  A 
figure  was  instantly  led  forward,  his  arms  strongly  secured 
in  his  own  mantle,  and  his  hat  so  slouched  over  his  face,  that 
not  a  feature  could  be  distinguished.  Still  there  was  some 
thing  in  his  appearance  that  struck  a  cold  chill  of  doubt  to 
the  heart  of  the  King,  and  in  a  voice  strangely  expressive  of 
emotion,  he  commanded — "  Remove  his  hat  and  mantle  :  we 
should  know  that  form." 

He  was  obeyed,  for  there  was  no  resistance  on  the  part  of  the 
prisoner,  whose  inner  dress  was  also  stained  with  blood,  as 
were  his  hands.  His  cheek  was  ashy  pale  ;  his  eye  bloodshot 
and  pale ;  and  his  whole  appearance  denoting  such  excessive 
agitation,  tnat  it  would  have  gone  far  to  condemn  him,  even 
had  there  been  no  other  proof. 

"  Stanley  !"  burst  from  the  astonished  King,  as  a  wild  cry 
ran  round  the  hall,  and  "  Death  to  the  ungrateful  foreigner!" 
— "  Death  to  the  base-born  Englishman  !" — "  Tortures  and 
death  !"  escaped,  in  every  variety  of  intonation,  from  the  fierce 
soldiery,  who,  regardless  even  of  their  Sovereign's  presence, 
drew  closer  and  closer  round,  clashing  their  weapons,  and 
with  difficulty  restrained  from  tearing  him  to  pieces  where  he 
stood. 

"  He  was  my  foe,"  muttered  the  prisoner,  almost  uncon 
scious  of  the  import  of  his  words,  or  how  far  they  would  con« 


OK,    THE    MARTYR. 


101 


firm  the  suspicions  against  him.  "  He  roobed  me  of  happiness 
— he  destined  me  to  misery.  I  hated  him ;  but  I  did  not 
murder  him.  I  swore  to  take  his  life  or  lose  my  own ;  but 
not  thus — not  thus.  Great  God  !  to  see  him  lying  there,  and 
feel  it  might  have  been  my  hand.  Men,  men !  would  ye  quench 
hatred,  behold  its  object  stricken  before  you  by  a  dastard 
blow  like  this,  and-  ye  will  feel  its  enormity  and  horror.  I 
did  not  slay  him ;  I  would  give  my  life  to  the  murderer's  dag 
ger  to  call  him  back,  and  ask  his  forgiveness  for  the  thoughts 
of  blood  I  entertained  against  him ;  but  I  touched  him  not — 
my  sword  is  stainless." 

"  Thou  liest,  false  traitor !"  exclaimed  Don  Felix,  fiercely, 
and  he  held  up  the  hilt  and  about  four  inches  of  a  sword,  the 
remainder  of  which  was  still  in  the  body.  "  Behold  the  evi 
dence  to  thy  black  lie  !  My  liege,  this  fragment  was  found 
beside  the  body  deluged  in  gore.  We  know  the  hilt  too  well 
to  doubt,  one  moment,  the  name  of  its  possessor ;  there  is  not 
another  like  it  throughout  Spain.  It  snapt  in  the  blow,  as  if 
more  honorable  than  its  master,  it  could  not  survive  so  foul 
a  stain.  What  arm  should  wield  it  save  his  own?" 

A  universal  murmur  of  execration,  acknowledged  this 
convincing  evidence ;  doubly  confirmed,  as  it  seemed  to  be  by 
the  fearful  start  and  muttered  exclamation,  on  the  part  of 
the  prisoner  the  moment  it  was  produced.  The  nobles  throng 
ed  round  the  King,  some  entreating  him  to  sentence  the 
midnight  assassin  to  instant  execution ;  others,  to  retain  him 
in  severest  imprisonment  till  the  proofs  of  his  guilt  could  be 
legally  examined,  and  the  whole  European  World  hear  of  the 
crime,  and  its  chastisement ;  lest  they  should  say  that  as  a 
foreigner,  justice  was  refused  to  him.  To  this  opinion  the 
King  leaned. 

"  Ye  counsel  well  and  wisely,  my  lords,"  he  said.  "  It 
shall  not  be  said,  because  the  murdered  was  our  subject,  and 
the  murderer  an  alien,  that  he  was  condemned  without  exa 
mination  of  proofs  against  him,  or  being  heard  in  his  own 
defence.  Seven  suns  hence  we  will  ourselves  examine  every 
evidence  for  or  against  him,  which  your  penetration,  my  lords, 
can  collect.  Till  then  Don  Felix,  the  prisoner  is  your  charge, 
to  be  produced  when  summoned  ;  and  now  away  with  the  mid 
night  assassin — he  has  polluted  our  presence  too  long.  Away 
with  the  base  ingrate,  who  has  thus  requited  our  trust  and 
love ;  we  would  look  on  him  no  more." 


102 

With  a  rapid  movement  the  unfortunate  young  man  broke 
from  the  guard,  which,  at  Don  Felix's  sign,  closed  round  and 
sought  to  drag  him  from  the  hall,  and  flung  himself  impetu 
ously  at  Ferdinand's  feet. 

"  I  am  no  murderer  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  such  pas 
sionate  agony,  that  to  any  less  prejudiced  than  those  around, 
it  must  at  least  have  raised  doubt  as  to  his  guilt.  "  I  am  not  the 
base  ingrate  you  would  deem  me.  Condemn  me  to  death  an 
thou  wilt,  I  kneel  not  to  sue  for  life ;  for,  dishonored  and  sus 
pected,  I  would  not  accept  it  were  it  offered.  Let  them  bring 
forward  what  they  will,  I  am  innocent.  Here,  before  ye  all, 
in  presence  of  the  murdered  victim,  by  all  held  sacred  in 
Heaven  or  on  Earth,  I  swear  I  slew  him  not !  If  I  am 
guilty  I  call  upon  the  dead  himself  to  rise,  and  blast  me  with 
his  gaze !" 

Involuntarily  every  eye  turned  towards  the  corpse ;  for, 
vague  as  such  an  appeal  might  seem  now,  the  age  was  then 
but  barely  past,  when  the  assistance  of  the  murdered  was 
often  required  in  the  discovery  of  the  murderer.  Many  a 
brave  heart  grew  chill,  and  brown  cheeks  blanched,  in  antici 
pation  of  the  unearthly  sign,  so  fully  were  they  convinced  of 
Stanley's  guilt,  but  none  came.  The  stagnated  blood  did  not 
flow  forth  again — the  eye  did  not  glare  with  more  conscious 
ness  than  before — the  cold  hand  did  not  move  to  point  its 
finger  at  the  prisoner ;  and  Don  Felix,  fearing  the  effect  of 
Stanley's  appeal  upon  the  King,  signed  to  the  guards,  who 
rudely  raised  and  bore  him  from  the  hall. 

The  tumults  of  these  events  had  naturally  spread  far  and 
wide  over  the  castle,  reaching  the  apartments  of  the  Queen 
who,  perceiving  the  awe  and  terror  which  the  raging  tempest 
had  excited  in  her  attendants,  though  incapable  of  aught  like 
fear  herself,  had  refrained  from  dismissing  them  as  usual. 
The  confusion  below  seeming  to  increase  with  every  moment, 
naturally  excited  her  surprise ;  and  she  commanded  one  of 
her  attendants  to  learn  its  cause.  Already  terrified,  none 
seemed  inclined  to  obey,  till  a  young  girl,  high  spirited,  and 
dauntless  almost  as  Isabella  herself,  departed  of  her  own  free 
will,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned,  pale  and  trembling, 
with  the  dread  intelligence,  that  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  lay 
murdered  in  the  hall,  and  that  Arthur  Stanley  was  his 
murderer. 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  103 

Isabella  paused  not  a  moment,  though  the  shock  was  so 
terrible  that  for  the  minute  she  became  faint  and  siok,  and 
hastily  quitting  her  apartments,  she  entered  the  great  hall  at 
the  moment  the  prisoner  was  being  borne  from  it.  Stupefied 
with  contending  feelings.  Ferdinand  did  not  perceive  her  en 
trance.  The  nobles,  drawn  together  in  little  knots,  were 
conversing  in  low  eager  tones,  or  endeavoring  to  reduce  the 
tumultuary  soldiery  to  more  order;  and  the  Queen  moved  on 
unperceived,  till  she  stood  beside  the  corpse.  She  neither 
shrunk  from  it,  nor  paled ;  but  bending  over  him,  murmured 
in  a  tone,  that  from  its  startling  indication  of  her  unexpected 
presence,  reached  the  ear  of  all — "  His  poor,  poor  Marie  !" 

The  effect  was  electric.  Until  that  moment  horror  and 
indignation  had  been  the  predominant  feeling;  but  with 
chose  words  came  the  thought  of  his  young,  his  beautiful,  his 
treasured  wife — the  utter,  utter  desolation  which  that  fearful 
death  would  bring  to  her ;  the  contrast  between  her  present 
position,  and  that  in  which  they  had  so  lately  beheld  her ; 
and  there  was  scarcely  a  manly  spirit  there,  that  did  not  feel 
unwonted  moisture  gather  in  his  eyes,  or  his  heart  swell  with 
an  emotion  never  felt  before. 

<:  Now  blessings  on  thy  true  woman's  heart,  my  Isabel !" 
exclaimed  the  King,  tenderly  drawing  her  from  the  couch  of 
the  dead.  "  I  dare  vouch  not  one  of  us,  mourning  the  noble 
dead,  has,  till  now,  cast  a  thought  upon  the  living.  And  who 
shall  breathe  these  fearful  tidings'?  "Who  prepare  the  un 
fortunate  Marie  for  the  loss  awaiting  her,  and  yet  tarry  to 
behold  and  soothe  her  anguish  ?" 

"  That  will  I  do,"  replied  the  Queen,  instantly.  "  None 
else  will  prepare  her  so  gently,  so  kindly ;  for  none  knew  her 
husband's  worth  so  well,  or  can  mourn  his  loss  more  deeply. 
She  shall  come  hither.  And  the  murderer,"  she  continued 
after  a  brief  pause,  and  the  change  was  almost  startling  from 
the  tender  sympathy  of  the  Woman  to  the  indignant  majesty 
of  the  Queen — "  Ferdinand,  have  they  told  me  true  as  to  his 
person — is  he  secured  ?" 

"  Ay,"  answered  the  King,  briefly  and  bitterly :  and  from 
respect  to  his  feelings,  Isabella  asked  no  more.  Orders  were 
issued  for  the  body  to  be  laid  in  one  of  the  state  apartments  ; 
a  guard  to  be  stationed  at  the  entrance  of  the  chamber,  and 
measures  taken  to  keep  the  events  of  that  fatal  night  pro- 


104  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

foundly  secret,  lest  confusion  should  be  aroused  in  the  easily 
excited  populace,  or  her  terrible  loss  too  rudely  reach  the 
ears  of  the  most  painfully  bereaved.  These  orders  wore 
punctually  obeyed. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"  Yet  again  methinks 

Some  unknown  sorrow,  ripe  in  Future's  womb, 
Is  coming  towards  me ;  and  my  inward  soul 
With  nothing  trembles.    At  something  it  grieves 
More  than  the  parting  with  my  lord." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

LONG  did  Marie  Morales  linger  where  her  husband  had  leCi 
her  after  his  strangely  passionate  farewell.  His  tone,  his 
look,  his  embrace  haunted  her  almost  to  pain — all  were  so 
unlike  his  wonted  calmness :  her  full  heart  so  yearned  to 
wards  him  that  she  would  have  given  worlds,  if  she  had  had 
them,  to  call  him  to  her  side  once  more — to  conjure  him  again 
to  forgive  and  assure  her  of  his  continued  trust — to  tell  him 
she  was  happy,  and  asked  no  other  love  than  his.  Why  had 
he  left  her  so  early  ?  when  she  felt  as  if  she  had  so  much  to 
say — so  much  to  confide.  And  then  her  eye  caught  the 
same  ominous  cloud  which  had  so  strangely  riveted  Don  Fer 
dinand's  gaze,  and  a  sensation  of  awe  stole  over  her,  retain 
ing  her  by  the  casement  as  by  some  spell  which  she  vainly 
strove  to  resist ;  until  the  forked  lightnings  began  to  illu 
mine  the  murky  gloom,  and  the  thunder  rolled  awfully  along. 
Determined  not  to  give  way  to  the  heavy  depression  creeping 
over  her,  Marie  summoned  her  attendants,  and  strenuously 
sought  to  keep  up  an  animated  conversation  as  they  worked. 
Not  expecting  to  see  her  husband  till  the  ensuing  morning, 
she  retired  to  rest  at  the  first  partial  lull  of  the  storm,  and 
slept  calmly  for  many  hours.  A  morning  of  transcendent 
loveliness  followed  the  awful  horrors  of  the  night.  The  sun 
seemed  higher  in  the  heavens  than  usual,  when  Marie  started 
from  a  profound  sleep,  with  a  vague  sensation  that  something 


OH,    THE    MARTYR.  105 

terrible  had  occurred ;  every  pulse  was  throbbing,  though 
her  heart  felt  stagnant  within  her.  For  some  minutes  she 
could  not  frame  a  distinct  thought,  and  then  her  husband's 
fond  farewell  flashed  back ;  but  what  had  that  to  do  with 
gloom?  Ringing  a  little  silver  bell  beside  her,  Manuella 
answered  the  summons,  and  Marie  anxiously  inquired  for 
Don  Ferdinand.  Had  he  not  yet  returned?  A  sensation 
of  sickness — the  deadly  sickness  of  indefinable  dread — seem 
ed  to  stupefy  every  faculty,  as  Manuella  answered  in  the 
negative,  adding,  it  was  much  beyond  his  usual  hour. 

"  Send  to  the  castle,  and  inquire  if  aught  has  detained 
him,"  she  exclaimed ;  hastily  rising  as  she  spoke,  and  com 
mencing  a  rapid  toilet.  She  was  scarcely  attired  before  Al- 
beric,  with  a  pale  cheek  and  voice  of  alarm,  brought  informa 
tion  that  a  messenger  and  litter  from  the  palace  were  in  the 
court,  bringing  the  Queen's  mandate  for  the  instant  attend 
ance  of  Donna  Marie. 

"  Oh  !  lady,  dearest  lady,  let  me  go  with  thee,"  continued 
the  boy,  suddenly  clasping  her  robe  and  bursting  into  tears. 
"  My  master — my  good,  noble  master — something  horrible 
has  occurred,  and  they  will  not  tell  me  what.  Every  face  I 
see  is  full  of  horror — every  voice  seems  suppressed — every — " 

"  Hush !"  angrily  interposed  Manuella,  as  she  beheld 
Marie's  very  lips  lose  their  glowing  tint,  and  her  eyes  gaze 
on  vacancy.  "  For  God's  sake,  still  thine  impudent  tongue ; 
thou'lt  kill  her  with  thy  rashness." 

"Kill!  who  is  killed?"  gasped  Marie.  "What  did  he 
say  ?  Where  is  my  husband  ?" 

"  Detained  at  the  palace,  dearest  lady,"  readily  answered 
Manuella.  "  This  foolish  boy  is  terrified  at  shadows.  My 
lord  is  detained,  and  her  Grace  has  sent  a  litter  requiring 
thine  attendance.  We  must  haste,  for  she  wills  no  delay. 
Carlotta,  my  lady's  mantilla ;  quick,  girl !  Alberic,  go  if 
thou  wilt :  my  Lord  may  oe  glad  of  thee  !  Ay,  go,"  she  con 
tinued  some  little  time  afterwards,  as  her  rapid  movements 
speedily  placed  her  passive,  almost  senseless  mistress,  in  the 
litter ;  and  she  caught  hold  of  the  page's  hand  with  a  sud 
den  change  of  tone,  "  go  ;  and  return  speedily,  in  mercy,  Al 
beric.  Some  horror  is  impending ;  better  know  it  than  this 
terrible  suspense." 

How  long  an  interval  elapsed  ere  she  stood  in  Isabella  s 
5* 


106  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

presence,  Marie  knew  not.  The  most  incongruous  thoughts 
floated,  one  after  another,  through  her  bewildered  brain — 
most  vivid  amongst  them  all,  hers  and  her  husband's  fatal 
secret :  had  it  transpired  ?  Was  he  sentenced,  and  she  thus 
summoned  to  share  his  fate?  And  then,  %when  partially 
relieved  by  the  thought,  that  such  a  discovery  had  never 
taken  place  in  Spanish  annals — why  should  she  dread  an 
impossibility  ? — flashed  back,  clear,  ringing,  as  if  that  mo 
ment  spoken,  Stanley's  fatal  threat ;  and  the  cold  shudder 
ing  of  every  limb  betrayed  the  aggravated  agony  of  the 
thought.  With  her  husband  she  could  speak  of  Arthur 
calmly  ;  to  herself  she  would  not  even  think,  his  name :  not 
merely  lest  he  should  unwittingly  deceive  again,  but  that  the 
recollection  of  his  suffering — and  caused  by  her — ever  cre 
ated  anew,  thoughts  and  feelings  which  she  had  vowed  unto 
herself  to  bury,  and  for  ever. 

Gloom  was  on  every  face  she  encountered  in  the  castle. 
The  very  soldiers,  as  they  saluted  her  as  the  wife  of  their 
general,  appeared  to  gaze  upon  her  with  rude,  yet  earnest 
commiseration  ;  but  neither  word  nor  rumor  reached  her  ear. 
Several  times  she  essayed  to  ask  of  her  husband,  but  the 
words  died  in  a  soundless  quiver  on  her  lip.  Yet  if  it  were 
what  she  dreaded,  that  Stanley  had  fulfilled  his  threat,  and 
they  had  fought,  and  one  had  fallen — why  was  she  thus  sum 
moned  ?  And  had  not  Morales  resolved  to  avoid  him  ;  for  her 
sake  not  to  avenge  Arthur's  insulting  words  1  And  again 
the  thought  of  their  fatal  secret  obtained  ascendency.  Five 
minutes  more,  and  she  stood  alone  in  the  presence  of  her 

Sovereign. 

*##**## 

It  was  told ;  and  with  such  deep  sympathy,  so  gently,  so 
cautiously,  that  all  of  rude  and  stunning  shock  was  averted ; 
but,  alas  !  who  could  breathe  of  consolation  at  such  a  moment? 
Isabella  did  not  attempt  it ;  but  permitted  the  burst  of  agony 
full  vent.  She  had  so  completely  merged  all  of  dignity,  all 
of  the  Sovereign  into  the  woman  and  the  friend,  that  Marie 
neither  felt  nor  exercised  restraint ;  and  words  mingled  with 
her  broken  sobs  and  wild  lament,  utterly  incomprehensible 
to  the  noble  heart  that  heard.  The  awful  nature  of  Don 
Ferdinand's  death,  Isabella  had  still  in  some  measure  con 
cealed  ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  Marie  had  strangely  connected 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  107 

it  with  violence  and  blood,  and,  in  fearful  and  disjointed 
words,  accused  herself  as  its  miserable  cause. 

"  Why  did  not  death  come  to  me  ?"  she  reiterated ;  "  why 
take  him,  my  husband — my  noble  husband  ?  Oh,  Ferdinand, 
Ferdinand  !  to  go  now,  when  I  have  so  learnt  to  love  thee  ! 
now.  when  I  looked  to  years  of  faithful  devotion  to  prove  how 
wholly  the  past  was  banished — how  wholly  I  was  thine  alone ! 
to  atone  for  hours  of  suffering  by  years  of  love !  Oh,  how 
couldst  thou  leave  me  friendless — desolate  ?" 

"  Not  friendless,  not  desolate,  whilst  Isabella  lives,"  re 
plied  the  Queen,  painfully  affected,  and  drawing  Marie  closer 
to  her,  till  her  throbbing  brow  rested  on  her  bosom.  "  Weep, 
my  poor  girl,  tears  must  flow  for  a  loss  like  this ;  and  long, 
long  weeks  must  pass  ere  we  may  hope  for  resignation ;  but 
harrow  not  thyself  by  thoughts  of  more  fearful  ill  than  the 
reality,  my  child.  Do  not  look  on  what  might  be,  but  what 
has  been ;  on  the  comfort,  the  treasure,  thou  wert  to  the  be 
loved  one  we  have  lost.  How  devotedly  he  loved  thee,  and 
thou—" 

"And  I  so  treasured,  so  loved.  Oh,  gracious  Sovereign  !" 
And  Marie  sunk  down  at  her  feet,  clasping  her  robe  in  sup 
plication.  "  Say  but  I  may  see  him  in  life  once  more  ;  that 
life  still  lingers,  if  it  be  but  to  tell  me  once  more  he  forgives 
me.  Oh.  let  me  but  hear  his  voice;  but  once,  only  once,  and 
I  will  be  calm — quite  calm ;  I  will  try  to  bear  this  bitter 
agony.  Only  let  me  see  him,  hear  him  speak  again.  Thou 
knowest  not,  thou  canst  not  know,  how  my  heart  yearns  for 
this." 

"  See  him  thou  shalt,  my  poor  girl,  if  it  will  give  thee 
aught  of  comfort ;  but  hear  him,  alas  !  alas  !  my  child,  would 
that  it  might  be !  Would  for  Spain  and  her  Sovereign's 
sake,  then  how  much  more  for  thine,  that  voice  could  be  re 
called  ;  and  life,  if  but  for  the  briefest  space,  return  !  Alas  ! 
the  blow  was  but  too  well  aimed." 

«  The  blow  !  what  blow  ?  How  did  he  die  ?  Who  slew 
him  ?"  gasped  Marie ;  her  look  of  wild  and  tearless  agony 
terrifying  Isabella,  whose  last  words  had  escaped  uninten 
tionally.  "  Speak,  speak,  in  mercy;  let  me  know  the  truth?" 

"  Hast  thou  not  thyself  alluded  to  violence,  and  wrath, 
and  hatred,  Marie  ?  Answer  me,  my  child  ;  didst  tbou  know 
any  one,  regarding  the  generous  Morales  with  such  feelings  ? 
Oould  there  be  one  to  regard  him  &s  his  foe  ?" 


108  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS) 

Crouching  lower  and  lower  at  Isabella's  feet,  her  face  half 
buried  in  her  robe,  Marie's  reply  was  scarcely  audible ;  but 
the  Queen's  brow  contracted. 

"None?"  she  repeated  almost  sternly;  "wouldst  thou 
deceive  at  such  a  moment  ?  contradict  thyself  ?  And  yet  I 
am  wrong  to  be  thus  harsh.  Poor  sufferer !"  she  added, 
tenderly,  as  she  vainly  tried  to  raise  Marie  from  the  ground  ; 
"thou  hast  all  enough  to  bear;  and  if,  indeed,  the  base 
wretch  who  has  dared  thus  to  trample  on  the  laws  alike  of 
God  and  man,  and  stain  his  own  soul  with  the  foul  blot  of 
midnight  assassination,  be  him  whom  we  have  secured,  thou 
couldst  not  know  him  as  thy  husband's  foe.  It  is  all  mystery — 
thine  own  words  not  least ;  but  his  murder  shall  be  avenged. 
Ay,  had  my  own  kinsman's  been  the  hand  to  do  the  dastard 
deed." 

"Murder!  who  was  his  murderer?"  repeated  Marie,  the 
horror  of  such  a  fate  apparently  lost  in  other  and  more 
terrible  emotion  ;  "  who  could  have  raised  his  sword  against 
my  husband  ?  Said  I  he  had  no  foe  1  Had  he  not  one,  and 
I,  oh,  God !  did  not  I  create  that  enmity  ?  But  he  would 
not  have  murdered  him ;  oh,  no — no :  my  liege,  my  gracious 
liege,  tell  me  in  mercy — my  brain  feels  reeling — who  was  the 
murderer  ?" 

"  One  thou  hast  known  but  little  space,  poor  sufferer," 
replied  the  Queen,  soothingly;  "one  whom  of  all  others  we 
could  not  suspect  of  such  a  deed.  And  even  now,  though 
appearances  are  strong  against  him,  we  can  scarce  believe  it ; 
that  young  foreign  favorite  of  my  royal  husband,  Arthur 
Stanley." 

"  STANLEY  !"  repeated  Marie,  in  a  tone  so  shrill,  so  pierc 
ing,  that  the  wild  shriek  which  it  formed  rung  for  many  and 
many  a  day  in  the  ears  of'the  Queen.  And  as  the  word  pass 
ed  her  lips  she  started  to  her  feet,  stood  for  a  second  erect, 
gazing  madly  on  her  royal  mistress,  and  then,  without  ons 
groan  or  struggle,  dropped  perfectly  lifeless  at  her  feet. 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  109 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

List !  hear  ye,  through  the  still  and  lonely  night, 

The  distant  hymn  of  mournful  voices  roll 
Solemn  and  low  1    It  is  the  burial  rite ; 

How  deep  its  sadness  sinks  into  the  soul, 
As  slow  the  passing  bell  wakes  its  far  ling'rir  g  knoll. 

CHARLES  SWAIN. 

SPAIN  has  often  been  regarded  as  an  absolute  monarchy ;  an 
opinion,  no  doubt,  founded  on  the  absolute  measures  of  her 
later  sovereigns.  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  certainly  laid  the 
foundation  of  the  royal  prerogative  by  the  firmness  and  abi 
lity  with  which,  they  decreased  the  power  of  the  nobles,  who, 
until  their  reign,  had  been  like  so  many  petty  sovereigns, 
each  with  his  independent  state,  and  preserving  his  authority 
by  the  sword  alone.  When  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  however, 
united  their  separate  kingdoms  under  one  denomination, 
neither  Castile  nor  Arragon  could  be  considered  as  an  abso 
lute  monarchy.  In  Castile,  the  people,  as  representatives  of 
the  cities,  had,  from  early  ages,  obtained  seats  in  the  Cortes, 
and  so  in  some  measure  balanced  the  power  of  the  aristocracy. 
The  Cortes,  similar  to  our  houses  of  parliament,  could  enact 
laws,  impose  taxes,  and  redress  grievances,  often  making  the 
condition  of  granting  pecuniary  aid  to  the  Sovereign,  his 
consent  to  the  regulations  they  had  laid  down,  and  refus 
ing  the  grant  if  he  demurred.  In  addition  to  these  pri 
vileges  of  the  Cortes  of  Castile,  the  Junta  of  Arragon  could 
coin  money,  declare  war,  and  conclude  peace ;  and  what  was 
still  more  remarkable,  they  could  be  neither  prorogued  nor 
dissolved  bf  their  Sovereign  without  their  own  consent. 
Alluding  to  the  Castilians,  a  few  years  after  the  period  ot 
our  tale,  Robertson  says — 

"The  principles  of  liberty  seem  to  have  been  better  understood  by 
the  Castilians  than  by  any  other  people  in  Europe.  They  had  acquir 
ed  more  liberal  notions  with  respect  to  their  own  rights  and  privileges. 
They  had  formed  more  bold  and  generous  sentiments  concerning  gov 
ernment,  and  discovered  an  extent  of  political  knowledge  to  which 
the  English  themselves  did  not  attain  till  nearly  a  century  afterwards."* 


110  THE    VALE    OF   CEDARS) 

When  we  compare  this  state  of  things  with  the  misery 
and  anarchy  pervading  Castile  before  the  accession  of  Isa 
bella,  we  may  have  some  idea  of  the  influence  of  her  vigorous 
measures,  and  personal  character,  on  the  happiness  and  free 
dom  of  her  subjects.  The  laws  indeed  existed  before,  but 
they  wanted  the  wisdom  and  moderation  of  an  enlightened 
Sovereign,  to  give  them  force  and  power  to  act. 

In  the  kingdom  of  Arragon,  besides  the  Junta,  or  National 
Assemblage,  there  was  always  a  Justizia,  or  supreme  judge, 
whose  power,  in  some  respects,  was  even  greater  than  the 
King's  ;  his  person  was  sacred  ;  he  could  remove  any  of  the 
royal  ministers  whom  ho  deemed  unworthy  of  the  trust,  and 
was  himself  responsible  to  none  but  the  Cortes  or  Junta  by 
whom  he  had  been  elected.  The  personal  as  well  as  the 
national  rights  of  the  Arragonese,  were  also  more  accurately 
defined  than  was  usual  in  that  age :  no  native  of  Arragon 
could  be  convicted,  imprisoned,  or  tortured,  without  fair  and 
legal  evidence.* 

Such  being  the  customs  of  the  kingdom  of  Arragon,  the 
power  of  the  crown  was  more  limited  than  Ferdinand's  capa 
cious  mind  and  desire  of  dominion  chose  to  endure  :  the 
Cortes,  or  nobles,  there  were  pre-eminent ;  the  people,  as  the 
Sovereign,  ciphers,  save  that  the  rights  of  the  former  were 
more  cared  for  than  the  authority  of  the  latter.  But  Ferdi 
nand  was  not  merely  ambitious  ;  he  had  ability  and  energy, 
and  so  gradually  were  his  plans  achieved  that  he  encoun 
tered  neither  rebellion  nor  dislike.  The  Cortes  found  that 
he  frequently  and  boldly  transacted  business  of  importance 
without  their  interference ;  intrusted  offices  of  state  to  men 
of  inferior  rank,  but  whose  abilities  were  the  proof  of  his  dis 
cernment  ;  took  upon  himself  the  office  of  Justizia,  and,  in 
conjunction  with  Isabella,  re-established  an  institution  which 
had  fallen  into  disuse  through  the  civil  wars,  but  which  was 
admirably  suited  for  the  internal  security  of  their  kingdom1 
by  the  protection  of  the  peasantry  and  lower  classes :  it  was 
an  association  of  all  the  cities  of  Castile  and  Arragon,  known 
as  the  Sainta  Hermandad,  or  Holy  Brotherhood,  to  maintain 
a  strong  body  of  troops  for  the  protection  of  travellers,  and 
the  seizure  of  criminals,  who  were  brought  before  judges 

*  See  History  of  Spain,  by  John  Bigland, 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  Ill 

nominated  by  the  confederated  cities,  and  condemned  ac« 
cording  to  their  crime,  without  any  regard  to  feudal  laws. 
Against  this  institution  the  nobles  of  both  kingdoms  were 
most  violently  opposed,  regarding  it  as  the  complete  destroyer, 
which  in  reality  it  was,  of  all  their  feudal  privileges,  and 
taking  from  them  the  long  possessed  right  of  trying  their 
own  fiefs,  and  the  mischievous  facility  of  concealing  their  own 
criminals. 

Thus  much  of  history — a  digression  absolutely  necessary 
for  the  clear  elucidation  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella's  conduct 
with  regard  to  the  events  just  narrated.  The  trial  of  Arthur 
Stanley  they  had  resolved  should  be  conducted  with  au  the 
formula  of  justice,  the  more  especially  that  the  fact  of  his 
being  a  foreigner  had  prejudiced  many  minds  against  him. 
Ferdinand  himself  intended  to  preside  at  the  trial,  with  a 
select  number  of  peers,  to  assist  in  the  examination,  and  pro 
nounce  sentence,  or  confirm  the  royal  mandate,  as  he  should 
think  fit.  Nor  was  this  an  extraordinary  resolution.  Nei 
ther  the  victim,  nor  the  supposed  criminal,  was  of  a  rank 
which  allowed  a  jury  of  an  inferior  grade.  Morales  had  been 
fief  to  Isabella  alone ;  and  on  Ferdinand,  as  Isabella's  repre 
sentative,  fell  the  duty  of  his  avenger.  Arthur  Stanley  own 
ed  no  feudal  lord  in  Spain,  save,  as  a  matter  of  courtesy,  the 
King,  whose  arms  he  bore.  He  was  accountable,  then,  ac 
cording  to  the  feudal  system,  which  was  not  yet  entirely 
extinct,  to  Ferdinand  alone  for  his  actions,  and  before  him 
must  plead  his  innocence,  or  receive  sentence  for  his  crime. 
As  his  feudal  lord,  or  suzerain,  Ferdinand  might  at  once  have 
condemned  him  to  death ;  but  this  summary  proceeding  was 
effectually  prevented  by  the  laws  of  Arragon  and  the  office 
of  the  Holy  Brotherhood  ;  and  therefore,  in  compliance  with 
their  mandates,  royal  orders  were  issued  that  every  evidence 
for  or  against  the  prisoner  should  be  carefully  collected  pre 
paratory  to  the  trial.  More  effectually  to  do  this,  the  trial 
was  postponed  from  seven  to  fourteen  days  after  the  discov 
ery  of  the  murder. 

The  excitement  which  this  foul  assassination  excited  in 
Segovia  was  so  extreme,  that  the  nobles  were  compelled  to 
solicit  Isabella's  personal  interference,  in  quieting  the  popu 
lace,  and  permitting  the  even  course  of  justice :  they  had 
thronged  in  tumultuary  masses  round  the  prison  where  Stan- 


112 

ley  was  confined,  with  wild  shouts  and  imprecations,  demand 
ing  his  instant  surrender  to  their  rage,  mingling  groans  and 
lamentations  with  yells  and  curses,  in  the  most  fearful  med 
ley.  Old  Pedro,  who  had  been  Arthur's  host,  inwittingly 
added  fuel  to  the  flame,  by  exulting  in  his  prophecy  that  evil 
would  come  of  Ferdinand's  partiality  for  the  white-faced  for 
eigner  ;  that  he  had  seen  it  long,  but  guessed  not  how  terri 
bly  his  mutterings  would  end.  By  the  Queen's  permission, 
the  chamber  of  state  in  which  the  body  lay  was  thrown  open 
to  the  eager  citizens,  who  thronged  in  such  crowds  to  behold 
the  sole  remains  of  one  they  had  well  nigh  idolized,  that  the 
guards  were  compelled  to  permit  the  entrance  of  only  a  cer 
tain  number  every  day.  Here  was  neither  state  nor  pomp 
to  arrest  the  attention  of  the  sight-loving  populace :  nought 
of  royalty  or  gorgeous  symbols.  No ;  men  came  to  pay  the 
last  tribute  of  admiring  love  and  sorrow  to  one  who  had  ever, 
noble  as  he  was  by  birth,  made  himself  one  with  them,  cheer 
ing  their  sorrows,  sharing  their  joys ;  treating  age,  however 
poor  or  lowly,  with  the  reverence  springing  from  the  heart, 
inspiring  youth  to  deeds  of  worth  and  honor,  and  by  his  own 
example,  far  more  eloquently  than  by  his  words,  teaching  all 
and  every  age  the  duties  demanded  by  their  country  and 
their  homes,  to  their  families  and  themselves.  And  this  man 
was  snatched  from  them,  not  alone  by  the  ruthless  hand  of 
death,  but  by  midnight  murder.  Was  it  marvel,  the  very 
grief  his  loss  occasioned  should  rouse  to  wildest  fury  men's 
passions  against  his  murderer? 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  fifth  day  after  the  murder,  that 
with  a  degree  of  splendor  and  of  universal  mourning,  unri 
vailed  before  in  the  interment  of  any  subject,  the  body  of 
Ferdinand  Morales  was  committed  to  the  tomb.  The  King 
himself,  divested  of  all  insignia  of  royalty,  bareheaded,  and 
in  a  long  mourning  cloak,  headed  the  train  of  chief  mourners, 
which,  though  they  counted  no  immediate  kindred,  numbered 
twenty  or  thirty  of  the  highest  nobles,  both  of  Arragon  and 
Castile.  The  gentlemen,  squires,  and  pages  of  Morales'  own 
household  followed :  and  then  came  on  horse  and  on  foot, 
with  arms  reversed,  and  lowered  heads,  the  gallant  troops 
who  had  so  often  followed  Morales  to  victory,  and  under  him 
had  so  ably  aided  in  placing  Isabella  on  her  throne ;  an  im 
mense  body  of  citizens,  all  in  mourning,  closed  the  proces- 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  113 

sion.  Every  shop  had  been  closed,  every  flag  half-masted, 
and  every  balcony,  by  which  the  body  passed,  hung  with 
black.  The  cathedral  church  was  thronged,  and  holy  and 
thrilling  the  service  which  consigned  dust  to  dust,  and  hid 
for  ever  from  the  eyes  of  his  fellow  men,  the  last  decaying 
remains  of  one  so  universally  beloved.  The  coffin  of  ebony 
and  silver,  partly  open,  so  as  to  disclose  the  face  of  the  corpse, 
as  was  customary  with  Catholic  burials  of  those  of  high  or 
priestly  rank,  and  the  lower  part  covered  with  a  superb  vel 
vet  pall,  rested  before  the  high  altar  during  the  chanted 
service ;  at  the  conclusion  of  which  the  coffin  was  closed,  tho 
lid  screwed  down,  and  lowered  with  slow  solemnity  into  the 
vault  beneath.  A  requiem,  chanted  by  above  a  hundred  of 
the  sweetest  and  richest  voices,  sounding  in  thrilling  unison 
with  the  deep  bass  and  swelling  notes  of  the  organ,  had  con 
cluded  the  solemn  rites,  and  the  procession  departed  as  it 
came  j  but  for  some  days  the  gloom  in  the  city  continued  ; 
the  realization  of  the  public  loss  seemed  only  beginning  to 
be  fully  felt,  as  excitement  subsided. 

Masses  for  the  soul  of  the  Catholic  warrior,  were  of 
course  sung  for  many  succeeding  days.  It  was  at  midnight, 
a  very  short  time  after  this  public  interment,  that  a  strange 
group  were  assembled  within  the  cathedral  vaults,  at  the  very 
hour  that  mass  for  the  departed  was  being  chanted  in  the 
church  above  their  heads  ;  it  consisted  of  monks  and  travel 
ling  friars,  accompanied  by  five  or  six  of  the  highest  nobility  ; 
their  persons  concealed  in  coarse  mantles  and  shrouding 
hoods ;  they  had  borne  with  them,  through  the  subterranean 
passages  of  the  crypt,  leading  to  the  vaults,  a  coffin  so  exact 
ly  similar  in  workmanship  and  inscription  to  that  which  con 
tained  the  remains  of  their  late  companion,  that  to  distin 
guish  the  one  from  the  other  was  impossible.  The  real  one, 
moved  with  awe  and  solemnity,  was  conveyed  to  a  secret 
recess  close  to  the  entrance  of  the  crypt,  and  replaced  in  the 
vault  by  the  one  they  had  brought  with  them.  As  silently, 
as  voicelessly  as  they  had  entered  and  done  their  work,  so 
they  departed.  The  following  night,  at  the  same  hour,  tho 
coffin  of  Morales,  over  which  had  been  nailed  a  thick  black 
pall,  so  that  neither  name,  inscription,  nor  ornament  could  bo 
perceived,  was  conveyed  from  Segovia  in  a  covered  cart,  be 
longing,  it  appeared,  to  the  monastery  of  St.  Francis,  situated 


114  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS j 

some  leagues  southward,  and  attended  by  one  or  two  monks 
and  friars  of  the  same  order.  The  party  proceeded  leisure 
ly,  travelling  more  by  night  than  by  day,  diminishing  gradu 
ally  in  number  till,  at  the  entrance  of  a  broad  and  desolate 
plain,  only  four  remained  with  the  cart.  Over  this  plain 
they  hastened,  then  wound  through  a  circuitous  path  con 
cealed  in  prickly  brushwood,  and  paused  before  a  huge,  mis 
shapen  crag,  seemingly  half  buried  in  the  earth :  in  this  a 
door,  formed  of  one  solid  stone,  flew  back  at  their  touch ;  the 
coffin,  taken  with  reverence  from  the  cart,  was  borne  on  their 
shoulders  through  the  dark  and  narrow  passage,  and  down 
the  winding  stair,  till  they  stood  in  safety  in  the  vale ;  in  the 
secret  entrance  by  which  they  entered,  the  lock  closed  as 
they  passed,  and  was  apparently  lost  in  the  solid  wall.  Three 
or  four  awaited  them — nobles,  who  had  craved  leave  of  ab 
sence  for  a  brief  interval  from  the  court,  and  who  had  come 
by  different  paths  to  the  secret  retreat  (no  doubt  already 
recognized  by  our  readers  as  the  Vale  of  Cedars),  to  lay 
Morales  with  his  fathers,  with  the  simple  form,  yet  solemn 
service  peculiar  to  the  burials  of  their  darkly  hidden  race. 
The  grave  was  already  dug  beside  that  of  Manuel  Henriquez; 
the  coffin,  resting  during  the  continuance  of  a  brief  prayer 
and  psalm  in  the  little  temple,  was  then  borne  to  the  ground 
marked  out,  which,  concealed  by  a  thick  hedge  of  cypress 
and  cedar,  lay  some  little  distance  from  the  temple  ;  for,  in 
their  secret  race,  it  was  not  permitted  for  the  house  destined 
to  the  worship  of  the  Most  High,  to  be  surrounded  by  the 
homes  of  the  dead.  A  slow  and  solemn  hymn  accompanied 
the  lowering  of  the  coffin ;  a  prayer  in  the  same  unknown 
language  ;  a  brief  address,  and  the  grave  was  filled  up  ;  the 
noble  dead  left  with  his  kindred,  kindred  alike  in  blood  as 
faith ;  and  ere  the  morning  rose,  the  living  had  all  departed, 
save  the  few  retainers  of  the  house  of  Henriquez  and  Mo 
rales,  to  whose  faithful  charge  the  retreat  had  been  intrusted. 
No  proud  effigy  marked  those  simple  graves  ;  the  monuments 
of  the  dead  were  in  the  hearts  of  the  living.  But  in  the  ca 
thedral  of  Segovia  a  lordly  monument  arose  to  the  memory 
of  Ferdinand  Morales,  erected,  not  indeed  for  idle  pomp,  but 
as  a  tribute  from  the  gratitude  of  a  Sovereign — and  a  na 
tion's  love. 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  115 


CHAPTER   XYII. 

ANGELO.  We  must  not  make  a  scarecrow  of  the  law, 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  the  birds  of  prey ; 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch,  and  not  their  terror. 

ESCALUS.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little, 
Than  fall  and  bruise  to  death. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

ON  the  evening  preceding  the  day  appointed  for  the  trial, 
Isabella,  unattended  and  unannounced,  sought  her  husband's 
private  closet ;  she  found  him  poring  so  intently  over  maps 
and  plans,  which  strewed  the  tables  before  him,  that  she  spoke 
before  he  perceived  her. 

"  Just  come  when  most  wished  for,  dear  wife,  and  royal 
liege,"  was  his  courteous  address,  as  he  rose  and  gracefully 
led  her  to  a  seat  beside  his  own.  "  See  how  my  plans  for  the 
reduction  of  these  heathen  Moors  are  quietly  working ;  they 
are  divided  within  themselves,  quarrelling  more  and  more 
fiercely.  ^  Pedro  Pas  brings  me  information  that  the  road  to 
Alhama  is  well  nigh  defenceless,  and  therefore  the  war  should 
commence  in  that  quarter.  But  how  is  this,  love?"  he 
added,  after  speaking  of  his  intended  measures  at  some 
length,  and  perceiving  that  they  failed  to  elicit  Isabella's  in 
terest  as  usual.  "  Thy  thoughts  are  not  with  me  this  eve 
ning." 

"  With  thee,  my  husband,  but  not  with  the  Moors,"  re 
plied  the  Queen,  faintly  smiling.  "  I  confess  to  a  pre-occu- 
pied  mind  ;  but  just  now  my  heart  is  so  filled  with  sorrowing 
sympathy,  that  I  can  think  but  of  individuals,  not  of  nations. 
In  the  last  council,  in  which  the  question  of  this  Moorish  war 
was  agitated,  our  faithful  Morales  was  the  most  eloquent. 
His  impassioned  oratory  so  haunted  me,  as  your  Grace  spoke, 
that  I  can  scarcely  now  believe  it  hushed  for  ever,  save  for 
the  too  painful  witness  of  its  truth." 

"  His  lovely  wife  thou  meanest,  Isabel  ?  Poor  girl !  How 
fares  she  ?" 

"  As  she  has  been  since  that  long  faint,  which  even  I  be- 


116  THE    VALE   OF   CEDARS J 

lievod  was  death ;  pale,  tearless,  silent.  Even  the  seeing 
of  her  husband's  body,  which  I  permitted,  hoping  the  sight 
would  break  that  marble  calm,  has  had  no  effect,  save  to  in 
crease,  if  possible,  the  rigidity  of  suffering.  It  is  for  her 
my  present  errand." 

"  For  her  !"  replied  the  King,  surprised.  "  What  can  I 
do  for  her,  apart  from  thee  ?" 

"  I  will  answer  the  question  by  another,  Ferdinand.  Is 
it  true  that  she  must  appear  as  evidence  against  the  murderer 
in  to-morrow's  trial1?" 

"  Isabella,  this  must  be,"  answered  the  King,  earnestly. 
"  There  seems  to  me  no  alternative  ;  and  yet  surely  this  can 
not  be  so  repugnant  to  her  feelings.  Would  it  not  be  more 
injustice,  both  to  her,  and  to  the  dead,  to  withhold  any  evi 
dence  likely  to  assist  in  the  discovery  of  the  murderer  ?" 

"  But  why  lay  so  much  stress  on  her  appearance  ?  Is 
there  not  sufficient  evidence  without  her  ?" 

"  Not  to  satisfy  me  as  to  Stanley's  guilt,"  replied  the 
King.  "  I  have  heard  indeed  from  Don  Luis  Garcia  quite 
enough,  if  it  be  true  evidence,  to  condemn  hhn.  But  I  like 
not  this  Garcia ;  it  is  useless  now  to  examine  wherefore.  I 
doubt  him  so  much,  that  I  would  not,  if  possible,  lay  any 
stress  upon  his  words.  He  has  declared  on  oath  that  he  saw 
Stanley  draw  his  sword  upon  Morales,  proclaim  aloud  his  un 
dying  hatred,  and  swear  that  he  would  take  his  life  or  lose 
his  own  ;  but  that,  if  I  were  not  satisfied  with  this  assur 
ance,  Donna  Marie  herself  had  been  present,  had  seen  and 
heard  all,  and  could  no  doubt  give  a  very  efficient  reason,  in 
her  own  beautiful  person,  for  Stanley's  hatred  to  her  husband, 
as  such  matters  were  but  too  common  in  Spain.  I  checked 
him  with  a  stern  rebuke ;  for  if  ever  there  were  a  double- 
meaning  hypocrite,  this  Don  Luis  is  one.  Besides,  I  cannot 
penetrate  how  he  came  to  be  present  at  this  stormy  inter 
view.  He  has  evaded,  he  thinks  successfully,  my  questions 
on  this  head;  but  if,  as  I  believe,  it  was  dishonorably  obtained, 
I  am  the  less  inclined  to  trust  either  him  or  his  intelligence. 
If  Marie  were  indeed  present,  which  he  insists  she  was,  her 
testimony  is  the  most  important  of  any.  If  she  confirm  Don 
Luis's  statement,  give  the  same  account  of  the  interview  be 
tween  her  husband  and  Stanley,  and  a  reason  for  this  sud 
denly  proclaimed  enmity ;  if  she  swear  that  he  did  utter 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  117 

such  threatening  words,  I  will  neither  hope  nor  try  to  save 
him ;  he  is  guilty,  and  must  die.  But  if  she  deny  that  he 
thus  spoke ;  if  she  declares  on  oath  that  she  knew  of  no 
cause  for,  nor  of  the  existence  of  any  enmity,  I  care  not  for 
other  proofs,  glaring  though  they  be.  Accident  or  some 
atrocious  design  against  him,  as  an  envied  foreigner,  may 
have  thrown  them  together.  Let  Marie  swear  that  this  Gar 
cia  has  spoken  falsely,  and  Stanley  shall  live,  were  my  whole 
kingdom  to  implore  his  death.  In  Donna  Marie's  evidence 
there  can  be  no  deceit ;  she  can  have  no  wish  that  Stanley 
should  be  saved ;  as  her  husband's  supposed  murderer,  he 
must  be  an  object  of  horror  and  loathing,  Still  silent  Isa 
bel?  Is  not  her  evidence  required?" 

'J  It  is  indeed.  And  yet  I  feel  that,  to  demand  it,  will 
but  increase  the  trial  already  hers." 

"As  how?"  inquired  the  King,  somewhat  astonished. 
u  Surely  thou  canst  not  mean — " 

'J I  mean  nothing ;  I  know  nothing,"  interrupted  Isabella 
hastily.  "  I  can  give  your  Grace  no  reason,  save  my  own 
feelings.  Is  there  no  way  to  prevent  this  public  exposure, 
and  yet  serve  the  purpose  equally?" 

Ferdinand  mused.  "  I  can  think  of  none,"  he  said.  "  Does 
Marie  know  of  this  summons  ?  and  has  her  anguish  sent 
thee  hither  ?  Or  is  it  merely  the  pleadings  of  thine  own 
heart,  my  Isabel  ?" 

"  She  does  not  know  it.  The  summons  appeared  to  me 
so  strange  and  needless,  I  would  not  let  her  be  informed  till 
I  had  sought  thee." 

'•  But  thou  seest  it  is  not  needless  !"  answered  the  King 
anxiously,  for  in  the  most  trifling  matter  he  ever  sought  her 
acquiescence. 

^  Needless  it  is  not,  my  liege.  The  life  of  the  young 
foreigner,  who  has  thrown  himself  so  confidingly  on  our  pro 
tection  and  friendship,  must  not  be  sacrificed  without  most 
convincing  proofs  of  his  guilt.  Marie's  evidence  is  indeed 
important;  but  would  not  your  Grace's  purpose  be  equally 
attained,  if  that  evidence  be  given  to  me,  her  native  Sove 
reign,  in  private,  without  the  dread  .formula  which,  if  sum 
moned  before  a  court  of  justice,  may  have  fatal  effects  on  a 
mind  and  frame  already  so  severely  tried  ?  In  my  presence 
alone  the  necessary  evidence  may  be  given  with  equal  solem 
nity,  and  with  less  pain  to  the  poor  sufferer  herself." 


118  1HE    VALE    OF    CEDARS j 

King  Ferdinand  again  paused  in  thought.  "But  her 
words  must  be  on  oath,  Isabel.  Who  will  administer  that 
oath  ?" 

"  Father  Francis,  if  required.  But  it  will  surely  be 
enough  if  she  swear  the  truth  to  me.  She  cannot  deceive 
me,  even  if  she  were  so  inclined.  I  can  mark  a  quivering 
lip  or  changing  color,  which  others  might  pass  unnoticed." 

"  But  how  will  this  secret  examination  satisfy  the  friends 
of  the  murdered?"  again  urged  the  cautious  King.  "How 
will  they  be  satisfied,  if  I  acquit  Stanley  from  Donna  Ma 
rie's  evidence,  and  that  evidence  be  kept  from  them  ?" 

';  Is  not  the  word  of  their  Sovereign  enough  ?  If  Isa 
bella  say  so  it  is,  what  noble  of  Castile  would  disgrace  him 
self  or  her  by  a  doubt  as  to  its  truth?"  replied  the  Queen 
proudly.  "  Let  me  cleariy  understand  all  your  Grace  re 
quires,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  If  Marie  corroborates 
Garcia' s  words,  why.  on  his  evidence  sentence  may  be  pro 
nounced  without  her  appearance  in  it  at  all ;  but  if  she  deny 
in  the  smallest  tittle  his  report,  in  my  presence  they  shall 
confront  each  other,  and  fear  not  the  truth  shall  be  elicited, 
and,  if  possible,  Stanley  saved.  I  may  be  deceived,  and 
Marie  not  refuse  to  appear  as  witness  against  him ;  if  so, 
there  needs  not  my  interference.  I  would  but  spare  her  in 
crease  of  pain,  and  bid  her  desolate  heart  cling  to  me  as  her 
mother  and  her  friend.  When  my  subjects  look  upon  me 
thus,  my  husband,  then,  and  then  only  is  Isabella  what  she 
would  be." 

"  And  do  they  not  already  thus  regard  thoe,  my  own  Isa 
bel?"  replied  the  King,  gazing  with  actual  reverence  upon 
her ;  "  and  as  such,  will  future  ages  reverence  thy  name. 
Be  it  as  thou  wilt.  Let  Marie's  own  feelings  decide  the 
question.  She  must  take  part  in  this  trial,  either  in  public 
or  private  ;  she  must  speak  on  oath,  for  life  and  death  hang 
on  her  words,  and  her  decision  must  be  speedy.  It  is  sun 
set  now,  and  ere  to-morrow's  noon  she  must  have  spoken,  or 
be  prepared  to  appear." 

Ere  Queen  Isabella  reached  her  own  apartments  her  plan 
was  formed.  Don  Luis's  tale  had  confirmed  her  suspicions 
as  to  the  double  cause  of  Marie's  wretchedness ;  she  had 
herself  administered  to  her  while  in  that  dead  faint — herself 
bent  over  her,  lest  the  first  words  of  returning  consciousness 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  119 

should  betray  aught  which  the  sufferer  might  wish  concealed  ; 
but  her  care  had  been  needless:  no  word  passed  those 
parched  and  ashy  lips.  The  frame,  indeed,  for  some  days 
was  powerless,  and  she  acceded  eagerly  to  Isabella's  earnest 
proffer  (for  it  was  not  command)  to  send  for  her  attendants, 
and  occupy  a  suite  of  rooms  in  the  castle,  close  to  her  royal 
mistress,  in  preference  to  returning  to  her  own  home ;  from 
which,  in  its  desolate  grandeur,  she  shrunk  almost  in  loath 
ing. 

For  seven  days  after  her  loss  she  had  not  quitted  her 
apartment,  seen  only  by  the  Queen  and  her  own  woman ; 
but  after  that  interval,  at  Isabella's  gently  expressed  wish, 
she  joined  her,  in  her  private  hours,  amongst  her  most  fa 
vored  attendants ;  called  upon  indeed  for  nothing  save  her 
presence !  And  little  did  her  pre-occupied  mind  imagine 
how  tenderly  she  was  watched,  and  with  what  kindly  sympa 
thy  her  unexpressed  thoughts  were  read. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  Isabella  was  seated,  as  was 
her  frequent  custom,  in  a  spacious  chamber,  surrounded  by 
her  female  attendants,  with  whom  she  was  familiarly  con 
versing,  making  them  friends  as  well  as  subjects,  yet  so  uni. 
ting  dignity  with  kindness,  that  her  favor  was  far  more  val 
ued  and  eagerly  sought  than  had  there  been  no  superiority ; 
yet,  still  it  was  more  for  her  perfect  womanhood  than  her 
rank  that  she  was  so  reverenced,  so  loved.  At  the  farther 
end  of  the  spacious  chamber  were  several  young  girls, 
daughters  of  the  nobles  of  Castile  and  Arragon,  whom  Isa 
bella's  maternal  care  for  her  subjects  had  collected  around 
her,  that  their  education  might  be  carried  on  under  her  own 
eye,  and  so  create  for  the  future  nobles  of  her  country,  wives 
and  mothers  after  her  own  exalted  stamp.  They  were  al 
ways  encouraged  to  converse  freely  and  gayly  amongst  each 
other;  for  thus  she  learned  their  several  characters,  and 
guide<J  them  accordingly.  There  was  neither  restraint  nor 
heaviness  in  her  presence ;  for  by  a  word,  a  smile,  she  could 
prove  her  interest  in  their  simple  pleasures,  her  sympathy 
in  their  eager  youth. 

Apart  from  all,  but  nearest  Isabella,  silent  and  pale, 
shrouded  in  the  sable  robes  of  widowhood — that  painful  garb 
which,  in  its  voiceless  eloquence  of  desolation,  ever  calls  for 
tears,  more  especially  when  it  shrouds  the  young  j  her  beau- 


120 

tiful  hair,  save  two  thick  braids,  concealed  under  the  linen 
coif — sat  Marie,  lovely  indeed  still,  but  looking  like  one 

"  Whose  heart  was  born  to  break — 
A  face  on  which  to  gaze,  made  every  feeling  ache." 

An  embroidery  frame  was  before  her,  but  the  flowers  grew 
but  slowly  beneath  her  hand.  About  an  hour  after  Isabella 
had  joined  her  attendants,  a  light  signal  was  heard  at  the 
tapestried  door  of  the  apartment.  The  Queen  was  then  sit 
ting  in  a  posture  of  deep  meditation ;  but  she  looked  up,  as 
a  young  girl  answered  the  summons,  and  then  turned  to 
wards  her  Sovereign. 

"  Well,  Catherine  ?" 

"  Royal  madam,  a  page,  from  his  Grace  the  King,  craves 
speech  of  Donna  Marie." 

"  Admit  him  then." 

The  boy  entered,  and  with  a  low  reverence  advanced 
towards  Marie.  She  looked  up  in  his  face  bewildered — a 
bewilderment  which  Isabella  perceived  changed  to  a  strong 
expression  of  mental  torture,  ere  he  ceased  to  speak. 

"  Ferdinand,  King  of  Arragon  and  Castile/'  he  said, 
"  sends,  with  all  courtesy,  his  royal  greeting  to  Donna  Marie 
Henriquez  Morales,  and  forthwith  commands  her  attendance 
at  the  solemn  trial  which  is  held  to-morrow's  noon ;  by  her 
evidence  to  confirm  or  refute  the  charge  brought  against  the 
person  of  Arthur  Stanley,  as  being  and  having  been  the  ac 
knowledged  enemy  of  the  deceased  Don  Ferdinand  Morales 
(God  assoilize  his  soul !)  and  as  having  uttered  words  of 
murderous  import  in  her  hearing.  Resolved,  to  the  utmost 
of  his  power,  to  do  justice  to  the  living  as  to  avenge  the 
dead,  his  royal  highness  is  compelled  thus  to  demand  the 
testimony  of  Donna  Marie,  as  she  alone  can  confirm  or  refute 
this  heavy  and  most  solemn  charge." 

There  was  no  answer ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  the  messenger 
required  none — imagining  the  royal  command  all  sufficient 
for  obedience — for  he  bowed  respectfully  as  he  concluded, 
and  withdrew.  Marie  gazed  after  him,  and  her  lip  quivered 
as  if  she  would  have  spoken — would  have  recalled  him  ;  but 
no  word  came,  and  she  drooped  her  head  on  her  hands, 
pressing  her  slender  fingers  strongly  on  her  brow,  as  thus  to 
bring  back  connected  thought  once  more.  What  had  he 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  121 

said?  She  must  appear  against  Stanley — she  must  speak  his 
doom  ?  Why  did  those  fatal  words  which  must  condemn 
him,  ring  in  her  ears,  as  only  that  moment  spoken  ?  Her 
embroidery  fell  from  her  lap,  and  there  was  no  movement  to 
replace  it.  How  long  she  thus  sat  she  knew  not ;  but, 
roused  by  the  Queen's  voice  uttering  her  name,  she  started, 
and  looked  round  her.  She  was  alone  with  Isabella ;  who 
was  gazing  on  her  with  such  unfeigned  commiseration,  that, 
unable  to  resist  the  impulse,  she  darted  forwards,  and  sink 
ing  at  her  feet,  implored — 

"  Oh,  madam — gracious  madam  !  in  mercy  spare  nie 
fchis  !" 

The  Queen  drew  her  tenderly  to  her,  and  said,  with  evi 
dent  emotion — 

"  What  am  I  to  spare  thee,  my  poor  child  ?  Surely  thou 
wouldst  not  withhold  aught  that  can  convict  thy  husband's 
murderer  ?  Thou  wouldst  not  in  mistaken  mercy  elude  for 
him  the  justice  of  the  law  ?" 

"  No — no,"  murmured  Marie  ;  « let  the  murderer  die  ;  but 
not  Stanley  !  Oh,  no— no  ;  he  would  not  lift  his  hand 
against  my  husband.  Who  says  he  slew  him  ?  Why  do 
they  attach  so  foul  a  crime  to  his  unshadowed  name  ?  Let 
the  murderer  die  ;  but  it  is  not  Arthur :  I  know  it  is  not. 
Oh,  do  not  slay  him  too  !" 

Marie  knew  not  the  wild  entreaty  breathing  in  her 
words :  but  the  almost  severely  penetrating  gaze  which  Isa 
bella  had  fixed  upon  her,  recalled  her  to  herself;  a  crimson 
flush  mounted  to  cheek  and  brow,  and,  burying  her  face  in 
the  Queen's  robe,  she  continued  less  wildly — 

"  Oh,  madam,  bear  with  me ;  I  know  not  what  I  say. 
Think  I  am  mad  ;  but  oh,  in  mercy,  ask  me  no  question.  Am 
I  not  mad,  to  ask  thee  to  spare — spare — him  they  call  my 
husband's  murderer  ?  Let  him  die,"  and  the  wild  tone  re 
turned,  "if  he  indeed  could  strike  the  blow ;  but  oh,  let  not 
my  lips  pronounce  Jus' death-doom  !  Gracious  Sovereign,  do 
not  look  upon  me  thus — I  cannot  bear  that  gaze." 

"  Fear  me  not,  poor  sufferer,"  replied  Isabella,  mildly ; 
|;  I  will  ask  no  question — demand  nought  that  will  give  thee 
pain  to  answer — save  that  which  justice  compels  me  to  re 
quire.  That  there  is  a  double  cause  for  all  this  wretchedness. 
f  cannot  but  perceive,  and  that  I  suspect  its  cause  I  may  not 
6 


122  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

deny ;  but  guilty  I  will  not  believe  thee,  till  thine  own 
words  or  deeds  proclaim  it.  Look  up  then,  my  poor  child, 
unshrinkingly ;  I  am  no  dread  Sovereign  to  thee,  painful  as 
is  the  trial  to  which  I  fear  I  must  subject  thee.  There  are 
charges  brought  against  young  Stanley  so  startling  in  their 
nature,  that,  much  as  we  distrust  his  accuser,  justice  forbids 
our  passing  them  unnoticed.  On  thy  true  testimony  his 
Grace  the  King  relies  to  confirm  or  refute  them.  Thy  evi 
dence  must  convict  or  save  him." 

"  My  evidence  !"  repeated  Marie.  "What  can  they  ask 
of  me  of  such  weight'?  Save  him  ."  she  added,  a  sudden 
gleam  of  hope  irradiating  her  pallid  face,  like  a  sunbeam 
upon  snow?  "  Did  your  Grace  say  /  could  save  him  ?  Oh, 
speak,  in  mercy !" 

"  Calm  this  emotion  then,  Marie,  and  thou  shalt  know  all. 
It  was  for  this  I  called  thee  hither.  Sit  thee  on  the  settle 
at  my  feet,  and  listen  to  me  patiently,  if  thou  canst.  'Tis  a 
harsh  word  to  use  to  grief  such  as  thine,  my  child,"  she 
added,  caressingly,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  Marie's  drooping 
head ;  "  and  I  fear  will  only  nerve  thee  for  a  still  harsher 
trial.  Believe  me,  I  would  have  spared  thee  if  I  could  ;  but 
all  I  can  do  is  to  bid  thee  choose  the  lesser  of  the  two  evils. 
Mark  me  well :  for  the  Sovereign  of  the  murdered,  the  judge 
of  the  murderer,  alike  speak  through  me."  And  clearly  and 
forcibly  she  narrated  all,  with  which  our  readers  are  already 
acquainted,  through  her  interview  with  the  King.  She 
spoke  very  slowly,  as  if  to  give  Marie  time  to  weigh  well  each 
sentence.  She  could  not  see  her  countenance  ;  nay,  she  pur 
posely  refrained  from  looking  at  her,  lest  she  should  increase 
the  suffering  she  was  so  unwillingly  inflicting.  For  some 
minutes  she  paused  as  she  concluded ;  then,  as  neither  word 
nor  sound  escaped  from  Marie,  she  said,  with  emphatic  earn 
estness — "  If  it  will  be  a  lesser  trial  to  give  thine  evidence  on 
oath  to  thy  Queen  alone,  we  are  here  to  receive  it.  Our 
royal  husband — our  loyal  subjects — will  be  satisfied  with 
Isabella's  report.  Thy  words  will  be  as  sacred — thy  oath  as 
valid — as  if  thy  testimony  were  received  in  public,  thy  oath 
administered  by  one  of  the  holy  fathers,  with  all  the  dread 
formula  of  the  church.  We  have  repeated  all  to  which  thy 
answers  will  be  demanded ;  it  remains  for  thee  to  decide 
whether  thou  wilt  speak  before  his  Grace  the  King  and  his 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  123 

assembled  junta,  or  here  and  now  before  thy  native  Sove 
reign.  Pause  ere  thou  dost  answer — there  is  time  enough." 

For  a  brief  interval  there  was  silence.  The  kind  heart  of 
the  Queen  throbbed  painfully,  so  completely  had  her  sympa 
thy  identified  her  with  the  beautiful  being,  who  had  so  irre 
sistibly  claimed  her  cherishing  love.  But  ere  she  had  had 
time  to  satisfy  herself  as  to  the  issue  of  the  struggle  so 
silently,  yet  so  fearfully  at  work  in  her  companion,  Marie 
had  arisen,  and  with  dignity  and  fearlessness,  strangely  at 
variance  with  the  wild  agony  of  her  words  and  manner  before, 
stood  erect  before  her  Sovereign  j  and  when  she  spoke,  her 
voice  was  calm  and  firm. 

"  Queen  of  Spain  !"  she  said.  "  My  kind,  gracious  Sov 
ereign  !  Would  that  words  could  speak  one-half  the  love, 
the  devotion,  all  thy  goodness  has  inspired ;  but  they  seem 
frozen,  all  frozen  now,  and  it  may  be  that  I  may  never  even 
prove  them — that  it  will  be  my  desolate  fate,  to  seem  less  and 
less  worthy  of  an  affection  I  value  more  than  life.  Royal 
madam !  I  will  appear  at  to-morrow's  trial !  Your  Grace  is 
startled  ;  deeming  it  a  resolve  as  strange  as  contradictory. 
Ask  not  the  wherefore,  gracious  Sovereign:  it  is  fixed  unal 
terably.  I  will  obey  his  Grace's  summons.  Its  unexpected 
suddenness  startled  me  at  first ;  but  it  is  over.  Oh,  madam," 
she  continued — tone,  look,  and  manner  becoming  again  those 
of  the  agitated  suppliant,  and  she  sunk  once  more  at  Isabella's 
feet :  "  In  my  wild  agony  I  have  forgotten  the  respect  and 
deference  due  from  a  subject  to  her  Sovereign ;  I  have 
poured  forth  my  misery,  seemingly  as  regardless  of  kindness, 
as  insensible  to  the  wide  distance  between  us.  Oh,  forgive 
me,  my  gracious  Sovereign  ;  and  in  token  of  thy  pardon, 
grant  me  but  one  boon  !" 

"  Nought  have  I  to  forgive,  my  suffering  child,"  replied 
tli£  Queen,  powerfully  affected,  and  passing  her  arm  ca 
ressingly  round  her  kneeling  favorite ;  "  what  is  rank — 
sovereignty  itself — in  hours  of  sorrow  ?  If  I  were  so  tena 
cious  of  dignity  as  thou  fearest,  I  should  have  shrunk  from 
that  awful  presence — affliction  from  a  Father's  hand — in 
which  his  children  are  all  equals,  Marie.  And  as  for  thj 
boon:  be  it  what  it  may,  I  grant  it." 

"Thou  sayest  so  now,  my  liege;  but  when  the  hour  t( 
grant  it  comes,  every  feeling  will  revolt  against  it ;  even  thine., 


124  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

my  Sovereign,  kind,  generous,  as  thou  art.  Oh,  Madam,  thou 
wilt  hear  a  strange  tale  to-morrow — one  so  fraught  with  mys 
tery  and  marvel,  thou  wilt  refuse  to  believe;  but  when  the 
trial  of  to-morrow  is  past,  then  think  on  what  I  say  now: 
what  thou  nearest  will  be  TRUE — true  as  there  is  a  heaven 
above  us  ;  I  swear  it !  Do  not  look  upon  me  thus,  my  Sover 
eign  ;  I  am  not  mad — oh,  would  that  I  were  !  Dark,  meaning 
less  as  my  words  seem  now,  to-morrow  they  will  be  distinct 
and  clear  enough.  And  then — then,  if  thou  hast  ever  loved 
me,  oh,  grant  the  boon  I  implore  thee  now:  whatever  thou 
mayest  hear,  do  not  condemn  me — do  not  cast  me  wholly  from 
thee.  More  than  ever  shall  I  need  thy  protecting  care.  Oh, 
my  Sovereign — thou  who  hast  taught  me  so  to  love  thee,  in 
pity  love  me  still !" 

"  Strange  wayward  being,"  said  Isabella,  gazing  doubting- 
ly  on  the  imploring  face  upturned  to  hers ;  u  towards  other 
than  thyself  such  mystery  would  banish  love  for  ever ;  but  I 
will  not  doubt  thee.  Darkly  as  thou  speakest,  still  I  grant 
the  boon.  What  can  I  hear  of  thee,  to  cast  thee  from  me?" 
';  Thou  wilt  hear  of  deceit,  my  liege,"  replied  Marie,  very 
slowly,  arid  her  eyes  fell  beneath  the  Queen's  gaze  ;  "  thou  wilt 
hear  of  long  years  of  deceit  and  fraud,  and  many — many 
tongues  will  speak  their  scorn  and  condemnation.  Then  wilt 
thou  grant  it — then?" 

"  Even  then,"  replied  Isabella  fearlessly ;  "  an  thou  speak 
est  truth  at  last,  deceit  itself  I  will  forgive.  But  thou  art 
overwrought  and  anxious,  and  so  layest  more  stress  on  some 
trivial  fault  than  even  I  would  demand.  Go  to  thy  own  cham 
ber  now,  and  in  prayer  and  meditation  gain  strength  for  to-mor 
row's  trial.  Whatever  I  may  hear,  so  it  be  not  meditated  and 
unrepented  guilt,  (which  I  know  it  cannot  be,)  I  will  forgive, 
and  love  thee  still.  The  holy  saints  bless  and  keep  thee,  my 
fair  child !" 

And  as  Marie  bent  to  salute  the  kind  hand  extended  to 
her,  Isabella  drew  her  towards  her,  and  fondly  kissed  her 
cheek.  The  unexpected  caress,  or  some  other  secret  feeling, 
subdued  the  overwrought  energy  at  once ;  and  for  the  first  time 
since  her  husband's  death,  Marie  burst  into  natural  tears. 
But  her  purpose  changed  not ;  though  Isabella's  gentle  and 
affectionate  soothing  rendered  it  tenfold  more  painful  to 
accomplish. 


OR      TWF.    MARTYR.  125 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

LEONTES.— These  sessions,  to  our  great  grief,  we  pronounce 
Even  pushes  'gainst  our  heart. 

Let  us  be  cleared 

Of  being  tyrannous,  since  we  openly 
Proceed  in  justice— which  shall  have  due  course, 
Even  to  the  guilt,  or  the  purgation. 
Produce  the  prisoner !— SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  day  of  trial  dawned,  bright,  sunny,  cloudless,  as  was 
usual  in  beautiful  Spain— a  joyous  elasticity  was  in  the  at 
mosphere,  a  brilliance  in  the  heavens,  which  thence  reflected 
on  the  earth,  so  painfully  contrasted  with  misery  and  death, 
that  the  bright  sky  seemed  to  strike  a  double  chill  on  the 
hearts  of  those  most  deeply  interested. 

Never  had  the  solemn  proceedings  of  justice  created  so 
great  an  excitement ;  not  only  in  Segovia  itself,  but  the  towns 
and  villages,  many  miles  round,  sent  eager  citizens  and  rustic 
countrymen  to  learn  the  issue,  and  report  it  speedily  to  those 
compelled  to  stay  at  home.  The  universal  mourning  for 
Morales  was  one  cause  of  the  popular  excitement ;  and  the 
supposition  of  the  young  foreigner  being  his  murderer  ano 
ther. 

The  hall  of  the  castle  was  crowded  at  a  very  early  hour, 
Isabella  having  signified  not  only  permission,  but  her  wish 
that  as  many  of  her  citizen  subjects  as  space  would  admit 
should  be  present,  to  witness  the  faithful  course  of  justice. 
Nearest  to  the  seat  destined  for  the  King,  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  hall,  were  ranged  several  fathers  from  an  adjoining 
convent  of  Franciscans,  by  whom  a  special  service  had  been 
impressively  performed  that  morning  in  the  cathedral,  in 
which  all  who  had  been  summoned  to  preside  at  the  trial  had 
solemnly  joined. 

The  Monks  of  St.  Francis  were  celebrated  alike  for  their 
sterling  piety,  great  learning,  and  general  benevolence.  Their 
fault,  if  such  it  could  be  termed  in  a  holy  Catholic  commu 
nity,  was  their  rigid  exclusiveness  regarding  religion  ;  their 
uncompromising  and  strict  love  for,  and  adherence  to,  their 
own  creed ;  and  stern  abhorrence  towards,  and  violent  perse 


126  HIE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

cution  of.  all  who  in  the  slightest  degree  departed  from  it,  or 
failed  to  pay  it  the  respect  and  obedience  which  they  believed 
it  demanded.  At  their  head  was  their  Sub-Prior,  a  character 
whose  influence  on  the  after  position  of  Spain  was  so  great, 
that  we  may  not  pass  it  by,  without  more  notice  than  our  tale 
itself  perhaps  would  demand.  To  the  world,  as  to  his  brethren 
and  superiors,  in  the  monastery,  a  stern  unbending  spirit,  a 
rigid  austerity,  and  unchanging  severity  of  mental  and  phy 
sical  discipline,  characterized  his  whole  bearing  and  daily 
conduct.  Yet,  his  severity  proceeded  not  from  the  supersti 
tion  and  bigotry  of  a  weak  mind  or  misanthropic  feeling. 
Though  his  whole  time  and  thoughts  appeared  devoted  to  the 
interest  of  his  monastery,  and  thence  to  relieving  and  guiding 
the  poor,  and  curbing  and  decreasing  the  intemperate  follies 
and  licentious  conduct  of  the  laymen,  in  its  immediate  neigh 
borhood;  yet  his  extraordinary  knowledge,  not  merely  of 
human  nature,  but  of  the  world  at  large — his  profound  and 
extensive  genius,  which,  in  after  years  was  displayed,  in  the 
prosecution  of  such  vast  schemes  for  Spain's  advancement, 
that  they  riveted  the  attention  of  all  Europe  upon  him— 
naturally  won  him  the  respect  and  consideration  of  Ferdi 
nand  and  Isabella,  whose  acute  penetration  easily  traced  the 
natural  man,  even  through  the  thick  veil  of  monkish  austerity. 
They  cherished  and  honored  him,  little  thinking  that,  had  it 
not  been  for  him,  Spain  would  have  sunk  at  their  death,  into 
the  same  abyss  of  anarchy  and  misery,  from  which  their 
vigorous  measures  had  so  lately  roused,  and,  as  they  hoped, 
so  effectually  guarded  her. 

When  Torquemada,  Isabella's  confessor,  was  absent  from 
court,  which  not  unfrequently  happened,  for  his  capacious 
mind  was  never  at  peace  unless  actively  employed — Father 
Francis,  though  but  the  Sub-Prior  of  a  Franciscan  monas 
tery,  always  took  his  place,  and  frequently  were  both  sover 
eigns  guided  by  his  privately  asked  and  frankly  given  opin 
ions,  not  only  on  secular  affairs,  but  on  matters  of  state,  and 
even  of  war.  With  such  a  character  for  his  Sub-Prior,  the 
lordly  Abbot  of  the  Franciscans  was  indeed  but  a  nominal 
dignitary,  quite  contented  to  enjoy  all  the  indulgences  and 
corporeal  luxuries,  permitted,  or  perhaps  winked  at,  from  his 
superior  rank,  and  leaving  to  Father  Francis  every  active 
duty ;  gladly,  therefore,  he  deputed  on  him  the  office  of  head 
ing  the  Monks  that  day  summoned  to  attend  King  Ferdinand. 


OR      THfK     MARTYR.  '27 


Not  any  sign  of  the  benevolence  and  goodness— in  reality 
the  characteristics  of  this  extraordinary  man— was  visible  on 
his  countenance  as  he  sat.     The  very  boldest  and  haughtiest 
of  -Ae  aristocracy,  involuntarily  perhaps,  yet  irresistibly,  ac 
knowledged  his  superiority.     Reverence  and  awe  were  the 
emotions  first  excited  towards  his  person  :    but  already  was 
that  reverence  largely  mingled  with  the  love  which  some 
three   years  afterwards  gave  him  such  powerful  influence 
over  the  whole   sovereignty  of   Spain.     Next  to  the  holy 
fathers,  and  ranged  according  to  rank  and  seniority,  were 
the  nobles  who  had   been  selected   to  attend,  the  greater 
number  of  whom  were  Oastilians,  as    countrymen    cf  the 
deceased.      Next  to  them  were  the  Santa  Hermandad,  or 
Brethren  of  the  Associated  Cities,  without  whose  presence 
and  aid,  no  forms  of  justice,  even  though  ruled  and  guided 
by  royalty  itself,  were  considered  valid  or  complete.      A 
semicircle  was  thus  formed,  the  centre  of  which  was  the 
King's  seat ;  and  opposite  to  him,  in  the  hollow,  as  it  were 
of  the  crescent,  a  space  left  for  the  prisoner,  accusers,  and 
witnesses.     Soldiers  lined  the  hall;    a  treble  guard  being 
drawn  up  at  the  base  of  the  semicircle,  and  extending  in  a 
wide  line  right  and  left,  behind  the  spot  destined  for  the 
prisoner.     There  was  still  a  large  space  left,  and  this  was  so 
thronged  with  citizens,  that  it  presented  the  appearance  of  a 
dense  mass  of  human  heads,  every  face  turned  in  one  direc 
tion,  and  expressive  in  various  ways  of  but  one  excitement, 
one  emotion. 

There  was  not  a  smile  on  either  of  the  stern  countenances 
within  the  hall.  As  the  shock  and  horror  of  Don  Ferdinand's 
fate  in  some  measure  subsided,  not  only  the  nobles,  but  the 
soldiers  themselves,  began  to  recall  the  supposed  murderer 
in  the  many  fields  of  honorable  warfare,  the  many  positions 
of  mighty  and  chivalric  bearing  in  which  they  had  hitherto 
seen  the  young  Englishman  play  so  distinguished  a  part ; 
and  doubts  began  to  arise  as  to  the  possibility  of  so  great  a 
change,  and  in  so  short  a  time.  To  meet  even  a  supposed 
enemy  in  fair  field,  and  with  an  equality  of  weapons,  was  the 
custom  of  the  day;  such,  therefore,  between  Stanley  and 
Morales,  might  have  excited  marvel  as  to  the  cause,  but  not 
as  to  the  act.  But  murder  !  it  was  so  wholly  incompatible 
with  even  the  very  lowest  principles  of  chivalry  (except  when 


128  THE   VALE    OF    CEDARS  j 

the  unfortunate  victim  was  of  too  low  a  rank  to  be  removed 
by  any  other  means),  that  when  they  recalled  the  gallantry, 
the  frankness  of  speech  and  deed,  the  careless  buoyancy,  the 
quickly  subdued  passion,  and  easily  accorded  forgiveness  of 
injury,  which  had  ever  before  characterized  young  Stanley, 
they  could  not  believe  his  guilt :  but  then  came  the  recollec 
tion  of  the  startling  proofs  against  him,  and  such  belief  was 
almost  involuntarily  suspended.  There  was  not  a  movement 
in  that  immense  concourse  of  human  beings,  not  a  word 
spoken  one  to  the  other,  not  a  murmur  even  of  impatience 
for  the  appearance  of  the  King.  All  was  so  still,  so  mute, 
that,  had  it  not  been  for  the  varied  play  of  countenances, 
any  stranger  suddenly  placed  within  the  circle  might  have 
imagined  himself  in  an  assemblage  of  statues. 

Precisely  at  noon,  the  folding-doors  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  hall  were  thrown  widely  but  noiselessly  back,  and  King 
Ferdinand,  attended  by  a  few  pages  and  gentlemen,  slowly 
entered,  and  taking  his  seat,  gazed  a  full  minute,  inquiringly 
and  penetratingly  around  him,  and  then  resting  his  head  on 
his  hand,  remained  plunged  in  earnest  meditation  some 
moments  before  he  spoke. 

It  was  a  strange  sight — the  noiseless,  yet  universal  rising 
of  the  assemblage  in  honor  to  their  Sovereign,  changing  their 
position  as  by  one  simultaneous  movement.  Many  an  eye 
turned  towards  him  to  read  on  his  countenance  the  prisoner's 
doom  ;  but  its  calm,  almost  stern  expression,  baffled  the  most 
penetrating  gaze.  Some  minutes  passed  ere  Ferdinand,  rous 
ing  himself  from  his  abstraction,  waved  his  hand,  and  every 
seat  was  instantaneously  resumed,  and  so  profound  was  the 
silence,  that  every  syllable  the  Monarch  spoke,  though  his 
voice  was  not  raised  one  note  above  his  usual  pitch,  was 
heard  by  every  member  of  those  immense  crowds,  as  indivi 
dually  addressing  each. 

"  My  Lords  and  holy  Fathers,  and  ye  Associated  Breth 
ren,"  he  said,  "  the  cause  of  your  present  assemblage  needs 
no  repetition.  Had  the  murdered  and  the  supposed  murderer 
been  other  than  they  are,  we  should  have  left  the  course  of 
justice  in  the  hands  of  those  appointed  to  administer  it,  and 
interfered  not  ourselves  save  to  confirm  or  annul  the  sentence 
they  should  pronounce.  As  the  case  stands,  we  are  deputed 
by  our  illustrious  Consort  and  sister  Sovereign,  Isabella  of 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  129 

Castile,  to  represent  her  as  Suzerain  of  the  deceased  (whom 
the  saints  assoilize),  and  so  ourselves  guide  the  proceedings 
of  justice  on  his  murderer.  Our  prerogative  as  Suzerain 
and  Liege  would  permit  us  to  condemn  to  death  at  once ; 
but  in  this  instance,  my  Lords  and  holy  Fathers,  we  confess 
ourselves  unwilling  and  incapable  of  pronouncing  judgment 
solely  on  our  own  responsibility.  The  accused  is  a  friendless 
foreigner,  to  whom  we  have  been  enabled  to  show  some  kind 
ness,  and  therefore  one  towards  whom  we  cannot  feel  indiffer 
ence  :  he  has,  moreover,  done  us  such  good  service  both  in 
Spain  and  Sicily,  that  even  the  grave  charge  brought  against 
him  now,  cannot  blot  out  the  memories  of  the  past.  We  find 
it  difficult  to  believe  that  a  young,  high-spirited,  honorable 
warrior,  in  whose  heart  every  chivalric  feeling  appeared  to 
beat,  could  become,  under  any  temptation,  under  any  impulse, 
that  base  and  loathsome  coward — a  midnight  murderer !  On 
your  counsels,  then,  we  implicitly  depend :  examine,  impar 
tially  and  deliberately,  the  proofs  for  and  against,  which  will 
be  laid  before  you.  But  let  one  truth  be  ever  present,  lest 
justice  herself  be  but  a  cover  for  prejudice  and  hate.  Let 
not  Europe  have  cause  to  say,  that  he  who,  flying  from  the 
enemies  and  tyrants  of  his  own  land,  took  refuge  on  the 
hearths  of  our  people,  secure  there  of  kindness  and  protec 
tion,  has  found  them  not.  Were  it  a  countryman  we  were 
about  to  judge,  this  charge  were  needless;  justice  and  mercy 
would,  if  it  were  possible,  go  hand  in  hand.  The  foreigner, 
who  has  voluntarily  assumed  the  name  and  service  of  a  son 
of  Spain,  demands  yet  more  at  our  hands.  My  Lords  and 
holy  Fathers,  and  ye  Associated  Brethren,  remember  this 
important  truth,  and  act  accordingly :  but  if,  on  a  strict,  un 
prejudiced  examination  of  the  evidence  against  the  prisoner, 
ye  pronounce  him  guilty,  be  it  so :  the  scripture  saith, 
1  blood  must  flow  for  blood  !' " 

A  universal  murmur  of  assent  filled  the  hall  as  the 
King  ceased :  his  words  had  thrilled  reprovingly  on  many 
there  present,  particularly  amongst  the  populace,  who  felt, 
even  as  the  Monarch  spoke,  the  real  cause  of  their  violent 
wrath  against  the  murderer.  Ere,  however,  they  had  time 
to  analyze  why  the  violent  abhorrence  of  Stanley  should  be 
so  calmed  merely  at  the  King's  words,  the  command,  "Bring 
forth  the  prisoner  !"  occasioned  an  intensity  of  interest  and 


130  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS; 

eager  movement  of  the  numerous  heads  towards  the  base  of 
the  hall,  banishing  every  calmer  thought.  The  treble  line  of 
•soldiers,  forming  the  base  of  the  crescent,  divided  in  the 
centre,  and  wheeling  backwards,  formed  two  files  of  dense 
thickness,  leaving  a  lane  between  them  through  which  the 
prisoner  and  his  guards  were  discerned  advancing  to  the 
place  assigned.  He  was  still  heavily  fettered,  and  his  dress, 
which  he  had  not  been  permitted  to  change,  covered  with 
dark,  lurid  stains,  hung  so  loosely  upon  him,  that  his  attenu 
ated  form  bore  witness,  even  as  the  white  cheek  and  haggard 
eye,  to  the  intense  mental  torture  of  the  last  fortnight. 
His  fair  hair  lay  damp  and  matted  on  his  pale  forehead ; 
but  still  there  was  that  in  his  whole  bearing  which,  while  it 
breathed  of  suffering,  contradicted  every  thought  of  guilt. 
He  looked  round  him  steadily  and  calmly,  lowered  his  head 
a  moment  in  respectful  deference  to  the  King,  and  instantly 
resumed  the  lofty  carriage  which  suffering  itself  seemed  in 
adequate  to  bend.  King  Ferdinand  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him 
with  an  expression  before  which  the  hardiest  guilt  must  for 
the  moment  have  quailed  ;  but  not  a  muscle  of  the  prisoner's 
countenance  moved,  and  Ferdinand  proceeded  to  address  him 
gravely,  yet  feelingly. 

"Arthur  Stanley,"  he  said,  "we  have  heard  from  Don 
Felix  d'Estaban  that  you  have  refused  our  proffered  privilege 
of  seeking  and  employing  some  friends,  subtle  in  judgment, 
and  learned  in  all  the  technicalities  of  such  proceedings,  as 
to-day  will  witness,  to  undertake  your  cause.  Why  is  this  ? 
Is  your  honor  of  such  small  amount,  that  you  refuse  even  to 
accept  the  privilege  of  defence  ?  Are  you  so  well  prepared 
yourself  to  refute  the  evidence  which  has  been  collected 
against  you,  that  you  need  no  more?  Or  have  we  indeed 
heard  aright,  that  you  have  resolved  to  let  the  course  of 
justice  proceed,  without  one  effort  on  your  part  to  avert  an 
inevitable  doom  ?  This  would  seem  a  tacit  avowal  of  guilt ; 
else,  wherefore  call  your  doom  inevitable  ?  If  conscious  of 
innocence,  have  you  no  hope,  no  belief  in  the  Divine  Justice, 
which  can  as  easily  make  manifest  innocence  as  punish  crime? 
Ere  we  depute  to  others  the  solemn  task  of  examination,  and 
pronouncing  sentence,  we  bid  you  speak,  and  answer  as  to  the 
wherefore  of  this  rash  and  contradictory  determination — per 
sisting  in  words  that  you  are  guiltless,  yet  refusing  the  pri- 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  131 

vilege  of  defence.  Is  life  so  valueless,  that  you  cast  it  de 
graded  from  you  ?  As  Sovereign  and  Judge,  we  command 
you  answer,  lest  by  your  own  rash  act  the  course  of  justice 
be  impeded,  and  the  sentence  of  the  guilty  awarded  to  the 
innocent.  As  man  to  man,  I  charge  thee  speak ;  bring  for 
ward  some  proof  of  innocence.  Let  me  not  condemn  to 
death  as  a  coward  and  a  murderer,  one  whom  I  have  loved 
and  trusted  as  a  friend !  Answer — wherefore  this  strange 
callousness  to  life — this  utter  disregard  of  thine  honor  and 
thy  name  ?" 

For  a  moment,  while  the  King  addressed  him  as  man  to 
man.  the  pallid  cheek  and  brow  of  the  prisoner  flushed  with 
painful  emotion,  and  there  was  a  scarcely  audible  tremulous- 
ness  in  his  vcice  as  he  replied : 

"  And  how  will  defence  avail  me  ?  How  may  mere  asser 
tion  deny  proof,  and  so  preserve  life  and  redeem  honor?  My 
liege,  I  had  resolved  to  attempt  no  defence,  because  I  would 
not  unnecessarily  prolong  the  torture  of  degradation.  Had 
I  one  proof,  the  slightest  proof  to  produce,  which  might  in 
the  faintest  degree  avail  me,  I  would  not  withhold  it ;  justice 
to  my  father's  name  would  be  of  itself  sufficient  to  command 
defence.  But  I  have  none  !  I  cannot  so  perjure  myself  as 
to  deny  one  word  of  the  charges  brought  against  me,  save 
that  of  murder !  Of  thoughts  of  hate  and  wrath,  ay,  and 
blood,  but  such  blood  as  honorable  men  would  shed,  I  am 

fuilty,  I  now  feel,  unredeemably  guilty,  but  not  of  murder  ! 
am  not  silent  because  conscious  of  enacted  guilt.  I  will 
not  go  down  to  the  dishonored  grave,  now  yawning  for  me, 
permitting,  by  silence,  your  Highness,  and  these  your  sub 
jects,  to  believe  me  the  monster  of  ingratitude,  the  treacher 
ous  coward  which  appearances  pronounce  me.  No !"  he  con 
tinued,  raising  his  right  hand  as  high  as  his  fetters  would 
permit,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  which  fell  with  the  eloquence 
of  truth  on  every  heart — "  No :  here,  as  on  the  scaffold — 
now,  as  with  my  dying  breath,  I  will  proclaim  aloud  my  in 
nocence  ;  I  call  on  the  Almighty  Judge  himself,  as  on  every 
Saint  in  heaven,  to  attest  it — ay,  and  I  believe  it  WILL  be 
attested,  when  nought  but  my  memory  is  left  to  be  cleared 
from  shame — I  am  not  the  murderer  of  Don  Ferdinand 
Morales  !  Had  he  been  in  every  deed  my  foe — had  he  given 
me  cause  for  the  indulgence  of  those  ungovernable  passions 


132  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS; 

which  I  now  feel  were  roused  against  him  so  causelessly  and 
sinfully,  I  might  have  sought  their  gratification  by  honorable 
combat,  but  not  by  midnight  murder  !  I  speak  not,  I  repeat, 
to  save  my  life  :  it  is  justly  forfeited  for  thoughts  of  crime  ! 
I  speak  that,  when  in  after  years  my  innocence  will  be  made 
evident  by  the  discovery  of  the  real  assassin,  you  will  all 
remember  what  I  now  say — that  I  have  not  so  basely  requit 
ed  the  King  and  Country  who  so  generously  and  trustingly 
befriended  me — that  I  am  no  murderer !" 

"  Then,  if  so  convinced  of  innocence,  young  man,  where 
fore  not  attempt  defence  ?"  demanded  the  Sub-Prior  of  St. 
Francis.  "  Knowest  thou  not  that  wilfully  to  throw  away 
the  life  intrusted  to  you,  for  some  wise  purpose,  is  amenable 
before  the  throne  of  the  Most  High  as  self-committed 
murder?  Proofs  of  this  strongly  asserted  innocence,  thou 
must  have." 

"  I  have  none,"  calmly  answered  the  prisoner,  "  I  have 
but  words,  and  who  will  believe  them  ?  Who,  here  present, 
will  credit  the  strange  tale,  that,  tortured  and  restless  from 
mental  suffering,  I  courted  the  fury  of  the  elements,  and  rush 
ed  from  my  quarters  on  the  night  of  the  murder  ivithout  my 
sword  ? — that,  in  securing  the  belt,  I  missed  the  weapon,  but 
still  sought  nob  for  it  as  I  ought? — who  will  believe  that  it 
was  accident,  not  design,  which  took  me  to  the  Calle  Soledad? 
and  that  it  was  a  fall  over  the  murdered  body  of  Don  Ferdi 
nand  which  deluged  my  hands  and  dress  with  the  blood  that 
dyed  the  ground  ?  Who  will  credit  that  it  was  seeing  him 
thus  which  chained  me,  paralyzed,  horror-stricken,  to  the 
spot  ?  In  the  wild  fury  of  my  passions  I  had  believed  him 
my  enemy,  and  sworn  his  death ;  then  was  it  marvel  that 
thus  beholding  him  turned  me  well-nigh  to  stone,  and  that, 
in  my  horror,  I  had  no  power  to  call  for  aid,  or  raise  the 
shout  after  the  murderer,  for  my  own  thoughts  arose  as 
fiends,  to  whisper,  such  might  have  been  my  work — that  I 
had  wished  his  death?  Great  God!  the  awful  wakening 
from  the  delusion  of  weeks — the  dread  recognition  in  that 
murdered  corse  of  my  own  thoughts  of  sin !"  He  paused 
involuntarily,  for  his  strong  agitation  completely  choked  his 
voice,  and  shook  his  whole  frame.  After  a  brief  silence, 
which  none  in  the  hall  had  heart  to  break,  he  continued 
calmly,  "  Let  the  trial  proceed,  gracious  Sovereign.  Yow 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  133 

Highness's  generous  interest  in  one  accused  of  a  crime  so 
awful,  comprising  the  death,  not  of  a  subject  only,  but  of  a 
friend,  does  but  add  to  the  heavy  weight  of  obligation  already 
mine,  and  would  of  itself  excite  the  wish  to  live,  to  prove 
that  I  am  not  so  utterly  tmworthy  ;  but  I  feel  that  not  to 
such  as  I,  may  the  Divine  mercy  be  so  shown,  as  to  bring 
forward  the  real  murderer.  The  misery  of  the  last  fortnight 
has  shown  me  how  deeply  I  have  sinned  in  thought,  though 
not  in  deed  ;  and  how  dare  I,  then,  indulge  the  wild  dream 
that  my  innocence  will  be  proved,  until  too  late,  save  for 
mine  honor  ?  My  liege,  I  have  trespassed  too  long  on  the 
time  of  this  assemblage ;  let  the  trial  proceed." 

So  powerful  was  the  effect  of  his  tone  and  words,  that  the 
impulse  was  strong  in  every  heart  to  strike  off  his  fetters, 
and  give  him  life  and  freedom.  The  countenance  of  the 
Sub-Prior  of  St.  Francis  alone  retained  its  unmoved  calm 
ness,  and  its  tone,  its  imperturbable  gravity,  as  he  command 
ed  Don  Felix  d'Estaban  to  produce  the  witnesses ;  and  on 
their  appearance,  desired  one  of  the  fathers  to  administer 
the  oath. 


CHAPTER,  XIX. 

"  His  unaltering  cheek 
Still  vividly  doth  hold  its  natural  hue, 
And  his  eye  quails  not.    Is  this  innocence  V 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

DURING  the  examination  of  Don  Alonzo  of  Aguilar,  and  of 
old  Pedro  and  Juana,  the  prisoner  remained  with  his  arms 
calmly  folded  and  head  erect,  without  the  smallest  variation 
of  feature  or  position  denoting  either  anxiety  or  agitation. 
Don  Alonzo's  statement  was  very  simple.  He  described  the 
exact  spot  where  he  had  found  the  body,  and  the  position  in 
which  it  lay  ;  the  intense  agitation  of  Stanley,  the  bloody 
appearance  of  his  clothes,  hands,  and  face,  urging  them  to 
secure  his  person  even  before  they  discovered  the  broken 
fragment  of  his  sword  lying  beside  the  corse.  His  account 


134  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

was  corroborated,  in  the  very  minutest  points,  by  the  men 
who  had  accompanied  him,  even  though  cross-questioned  with 
unusual  particularity  by  Father  Francis.  Old  Pedro's  state 
ment,  though  less  circumstantial,  was,  to  the  soldiers  and 
citizens  especially,  quite  as  convincing.  He  gave  a  wordy 
narrative  of  Senor  Stanley's  unnatural  state  of  excitement 
from  the  very  evening  he  had  become  his  lodger — that  ho 
had  frequently  heard  him  muttering  to.  himself  such  words  as 
"blood"  and  "vengeance."  He  constantly  appeared  long 
ing  for  something ;  never  eat  half  the  meals  provided  for 
him — a  sure  proof,  in  old  Pedro's  imagination,  of  a  disorder 
ed  mind,  and  that  the  night  of  the  murder  he  had  heard  him 
leave  the  house,  with  every  symptom  of  agitation.  Old 
Juana,  with  very  evident  reluctance,  confirmed  this  account ; 
but  Father  Francis  was  evidently  not  satisfied.  "  Amongst 
these  incoherent  ravings  of  the  prisoner,  did  you  ever  distin 
guish  the  word  l  murder  ?'  "  he  demanded — a  question  which 
would  be  strange,  indeed,  in  the  court  of  justice  of  the  pre 
sent  day,  but  of  importance  in  an  age  when  such  words  as 
blood  and  vengeance,  amongst  warriors,  simply  signified  a 
determination  to  fight  out  their  quarrel  in  (so-called)  honor 
able  combat.  The  answer,  after  some  hesitation,  was  in  the 
negative.  "Did  you  ever  distinguish  any  name,  as  the  object 
of  Senor  Stanley's  desired  vengeance?" 

Pedro  immediately  answered  "  No  ;"  but  there  was  a 
simper  of  hesitation  in  old  Juana,  that  caused  the  Sub-Prior 
to  appeal  to  her.  "  Please  your  Reverence,  I  only  chanced 
to  hear  the  poor  young  man  say,  '  Oh,  Marie !  Marie  !'  one 
day  when  I  brought  him  his  dinner,  which  he  put  away  un 
touched,  though  I  put  my  best  cooking  in  it." 

A  slight,  scarcely  perceptible  flush  passed  over  the  pri 
soner's  cheek  and  brow.  The  King  muttered  an  exclama 
tion  ;  Father  Francis's  brow  contracted,  and  several  of  the 
nobles  looked  uneasily  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  At  what  time  did  the  prisoner  leave  his  apartments  the 
night  of  the  murder  ?"  continued  the  Sub-Prior. 

"  Exactly  as  the  great  bell  of  the  cathedral  chimed 
eleven,"  was  the  ready  reply  from  Pedro  and  Juana  at  the 
same  moment. 

"  Did  you  hear  nothing  but  his  hasty  movements,  as  you 
Describe?  Did  he  not  call  for  attendance,  or  a  light?  Re- 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  135 

member,  you  are  on  oath,"  he  continued  sternly,  as  he  ob 
served  the  hesitation  with  which  old  Pedro  muttered  "  No  ;" 
and  that  Juana  was  silent.  "  The  church  punishes  false 
swearers.  Did  he  speak  or  not  ?" 

"  He  called  for  a  light,  please  your  Reverence,  but — 

"  But  you  did  not  choose  to  obey  at  an  hour  so  late  !" 
sternly  responded  Father  Francis ;  ':  and  by  such  neglect 
may  be  guilty  of  accelerating  the  death  of  the  innocent,  and 
concealing  the  real  murderer  !  You  allege  that  Senor  Stan 
ley  returned  from  some  military  duty  at  sunset,  and  slept 
from  then  till  just  before  eleven,  so  soundly  that  you  could 
not  rouse  him  even  for  his  evening  meal.  This  was  strange 
for  a  man  with  murder  in  his  thoughts !  Again,  that  he 
called  for  a  light,  which  you  neglected  to  bring ;  and  Senor 
Stanley  asserts  that  he  missed  his  sword,  but  rushed  from 
the  house  without  it.  Your  culpable  neglect,  then,  prevents 
our  discovering  the  truth  of  this  assertion  ;  yet  you  acknow 
ledge  he  called  loudly  for  light ;  this  appears  too  unlikely  to 
have  been  the  case,  had  the  prisoner  quitted  the  house  with 
the  intention  to  do  murder." 

"  Intention  at  that  moment  he  might  not  have  had, 
Reverend  Father,"  interposed  the  head  of  the  Associated 
Brethren,  who  had  taken  an  active  part  in  the  examination. 
"  Were  there  no  evidence  as  to  premeditated  desire  of  ven 
geance,  premeditated  insult,  and  long-entertained  enmity, 
these  conclusions  might  have  foundation.  As  the  case  stands, 
thoy  weigh  but  little.  Where  evil  passions  have  been  ex 
cited,  opportunity  for  their  indulgence  is  not  likely  to  pass 
unused." 

"  But  evidence  of  that  long-entertained  enmity  and  pre 
meditated  vengeance  we  have  not  yet  examined,"  replied 
the  Sub-Prior.  "  If  it  only  rest  on  the  suppositions  of  this 
old  couple,  in  one  of  whom  it  is  pretty  evident,  prejudice  is 
stronger  than  clearly  defined  truth,  methinks  that,  despite 
this  circumstantial  evidence,  there  is  still  hope  of  the  prison 
er's  innocence,  more  especially  as  we  have  one  other  import 
ant  fact  to  bring  forward.  You  are  certain,"  he  continued, 
addressing  old  Pedro,  "  that  the  bell  chimed  eleven  when 
Senor  Stanley  quitted  your  dwelling  ?"  The  man  answered 
firmly  in  the  affirmative.  "  And  you  will  swear  that  the 
Senor  »3lept  from  sunset  till  that  hour  ?" 


136 

"  I  dare  not  swear  to  it,  your  Reverence,  for  Juana  and  I 
were  at  a  neighbor's  for  part  of  that  time ;  but  on  our  re 
turn,  Juana  took  up  his  supper  again,  and  found  him  so  ex 
actly  in  the  same  position  as  we  had  left  him,  that  we  could 
not  believe  he  had  even  moved." 

"  Was  he  alone  in  the  house  during  this  interval  ?" 

"  No ;  the  maid  Beta  was  at  her  work  in  the  room  below 
Senor  Stanley's." 

"  Let  her  be  brought  here." 

The  order  was  so  rapidly  obeyed,  that  it  was  very  evi 
dent  she  was  close  at  hand ;  but  so  terribly  alarmed  at  the 
presence  in  which  she  stood,  as  to  compel  the  Sub-Prior  to 
adopt  the  gentlest  possible  tone,  to  get  any  answer  at  all.  He 
merely  inquired  if,  during  the  absence  of  her  master  and  mis 
tress,  she  had  heard  any  movement  in  the  prisoner's  room. 
She  said  that  she  thought  she  had — a  quiet,  stealthy  step,  and 
also  a  sound  as  if  a  door  in  the  back  of  the  house  closed ; 
but  the  sounds  were  so  very  indistinct,  she  had  felt  them 
at  the  time  more  like  a  dream  than  reality ;  and  the  com 
mencement  of  the  storm  had  •  so  terrified  her,  that  she  did 
not  dare  move  from  her  seat. 

"And  what  hour  was  this?" 

It  might  have  been  about  nine ;  but  she  could  not  say 
exactly.  And  from  the  assertion  that  she  did  hear  a  slight 
sound,  though  puzzlingly  cross-questioned,  she  never  waver 
ed.  The  King  and  the  Sub-Prior  both  looked  disappointed. 
The  chief  of  the  Santa  Hermandad  expressed  himself  con 
firmed  in  his  previous  supposition. 

The  prisoner  retained  his  calmness ;  but  a  gleam  of  in 
telligence  seemed  to  flit  across  his  features. 

"  You  would  speak,  Senor  Stanley,"  interposed  the  King, 
as  the  girl  was  dismissed.  "  We  would  gladly  hear  you." 

"I  would  simply  say,  your  Highness,"  replied* Stanley, 
gratefully,  "  that  it  is  not  unlikely  Beta  may  have  heard 
such  sounds.  I  am  convinced  my  evening  draught  was 
drugged ;  and  the  same  secret  enemy  who  did  this,  to  give 
him  opportunity  undiscovered  to  purloin  my  sword — may. 
nay,  must  have  entered  my  chamber  during  that  deathlike 
sleep,  and  committed  the  theft  which  was  to  burden  an  inno 
cent  man  with  his  deed  of  guilt.  The  deep  stillness  in  the 
house  might  have  permitted  her  ear  to  catch  the  step,  though 


OR,   THE   MARTYR  137 

my  sleep  was  too  profound.  I  could  hardly  have  had  time 
to  waken,  rise,  commit  the  deed  of  death,  and  return  to  such 
a  completely  deceiving  semblance  of  sleep,  in  the  short  hour 
of  Pedro  and  Juana's  absence ;  and  if  I  had,  what  madness 
would  have  led  me  there  again,  and  so  appalled  me,  as  to 
prevent  all  effort  of  escape  ?" 

"  Conscience,"  replied  the  chief  of  the  Santa  Hermandad, 
sternly.  "The  impelling  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  whom  you 
had  profaned,  and  who  in  justice  so  distracted  you,  as  to  lead 
you  blindly  to  your  own  destruction — no  marvel  the  dark 
ness  oppressed,  and  the  storm  appalled  you ;  or  that  heaven 
in  its  wrath  should  ordain  the  events  you  yourself  have 
described — the  fall  over  your  own  victim,  and  the  horror 
thence  proceeding.  We  have  heard  that  your  early  years 
have  been  honorable,  Senor  Stanley,  and  to  such,  guilt  is 
appalling  even  in  its  accomplishment.  Methinks,  Father 
Francis,  we  need  now  but  the  evidence  of  the  premedita 
tion." 

"  Your  pardon,  brother ;  but  such  conclusions  are  some 
what  over-hasty.  It  is  scarcely' probable,  had  Senor  Stanley 
returned  after  the  committal  of  such'  a  deed,  that  his  re- 
entrance  should  not  have  been  heard  as  well  as  his  de 
parture  ;  whereas  the  witness  expressly  declares,  that  though 
her  attention  was  awakened  by  the  previous  faint  sound,  and 
she  listened  frequently,  she  never  heard  another  movement, 
till  her  master  and  mistress's  return  ;  and  as  they  went  into 
the  Senor's  room  directly,  and  found  him  without  the  very 
least  appearance  of  having  moved,  justice  compels  us  to  in 
cline  to  the  belief  in  Senor  Stanley's  suggestion — that  he 
could  scarcely  have  had  sufficient  time  to  rouse,  depart,  do 
murder,  and  feign  sleep  during  Pedro  Benito's  brief  inter 
val  of  absence." 

"  We  will  grant  that  so  it  may  be,  Reverend  Father,  but 
what  proof  have  we  that  the  murder  had  not  been  just  com 
mitted  when  the  body  and  the  assassin  were  discovered  ?" 

Father  Francis  replied,  by  commanding  the  appearance 
of  Don  Ferdinand's  steward,  and  after  the  customary  for 
mula,  inquired  what  hour  his  late  lamented  master  had  quit 
ted  his  mansion  the  night  of  the  murder.  The  man  replied, 
without  hesitation,  "  Exactly  as  the  chimes  played  the  quar 
ter  before  nine." 


138 

"  But  was  not  that  unusually  early  ?  The  hour  of  meet 
ing  at  the  castle  was  ten,  and  the  distance  from  Don  Ferdi 
nand's  mansion  not  twenty  minutes'  ride,  and  scarce  forty 
minutes'  walk.  Are  you  perfectly  certain  as  to  the  hour  ?" 

"  I  can  take  my  oath  upon  it,  your  Reverence,  and  Lopez 
will  say  the  same.  Our  sainted  master  (Jesu  rest  his  soul!) 
called  to  him  a  few  minutes  before  he  entered  my  lady's 
room,  and  told  him  not  to  get  his  horse  ready,  as  he  should 
walk  to  the  castle.  Lopez  asked  as  to  who  should  attend 
him,  and  his  reply  was  he  would  go  alone.  He  had  done  so 
before,  and  so  we  were  not  surprised  ;  but  we  were  grieved 
at  his  look,  for  it  seemed  of  suffering,  unlike  himself,  and 
were  noticing  it  to  each  other  as  he  passed  us,  after  quitting 
my  lady,  and  so  quickly  and  so  absorbed,  that  he  did  not 
return  our  salutation,  which  he  never  in  all  his  life  neglected 
to  do  before.  My  poor,  poor  master !  little  did  we  think 
we  should  never  see  him  again !"  And  the  man's  uncon 
strained  burst  of  grief  excited  anew  the  indignation  of  the 
spectators  against  the  crime,  till  then  almost  forgotten,  in 
the  intense  interest  as  to  the  fate  of  the  accused.  Lopez 
was  called,  and  corroborated  the  steward's  account  exactly. 

'•  If  he  left  his  house  at  a  quarter  before  nine,  at  what 
hour,  think  you,  he  would  reach  the  Calle  Soledad?" 

From  ten  to  fifteen  minutes  past  the  hour,  your  Rever 
ence,  unless  detained  by  calling  elsewhere  on  his  way." 

"  Did  he  mention  any  intention  of  so  doing  ?"  The  an 
swer  was  in  the  negative.  "  According  to  this  account,  then, 
the  murder  must  have  taken  place  between  nine  and  ten ; 
and  Senor  Stanley  was  not  heard  to  quit  his  apartment  till 
eleven.  This  would  corroborate  his  own  assertion,  that  the 
deed  was  committed  ere  he  reached  the  spot." 

"  But  what  proof  have  we  that  Don  Ferdinand  was  not 
detained  on  his  way  ?"  replied  the  chief  of  the  Santa  Her- 
mandad.  "  His  domestics  assert  no  more  than  the  hour  of 
his  quitting  the  house." 

"  The  hour  of  the  royal  meeting  was  ten,"  rejoined  the 
Sub-Prior;  "he  was  noted  for  regularity,  and  was  not  likely 
to  have  voluntarily  lingered  so  long,  as  not  even  to  reach  the 
Calle  till  one  hour  afterwards." 

"  Not  voluntarily ;  but  we  have  heard  that  he  appeared 
more  suffering  than  he  was  ever  seen  to  do.  His  illness 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  1 39 

might  have  increased,  and  so  cause  detention ;  and  yet,  on 
even  partial  recovery,  we  know  him  well  enough  to  believe  he 
would  still  have  endeavored  to  join  his  Highness." 

"  He  would  ;  but  there  is  evidence  that,  when  brought  to 
the  castle,  he  had  been  dead  at  the  very  least  three  hours. 
Let  Curador  Benedicto  come  forward." 

A  repectable  man,  dressed  in  black,  and  recognized  at 
once  as  the  leech  or  doctor  of  the  royal  household,  obeyed 
the  summons,  and  on  being  questioned,  stated  that  he  had 
examined  the  body  the  very  moment  it  had  been  conveyed  to 
the  castle,  in  the  hope  of  discovering  some  signs  of  animation, 
however  faint.  But  life  was  totally  extinct,  and,  according 
to  his  judgment,  had  been  so  at  the  very  least  three  hours." 

"  And  what  hour  was  this  ?" 

"  Just  half-an-hour  after  midnight." 

A  brief  silence  followed  the  leech's  dismissal :  Ferdinsfld 
still  seemed  perplexed  and  uneasy,  and  not  one  countenance, 
either  of  the  nobles  or  Associated  Brethren,  evinced  satis 
faction. 

"  Our  task,  instead  of  decreasing  in  difficulty,  becomes 
more  and  more  complicated,  my  lords  and  brethren,"  observ 
ed  the  Sub-Prior,  after  waiting  for  the  chief  of  the  Santa 
Hermandad  to  speak.  ':  Had  we  any  positive  proof,  that 
Senor  Stanley  really  slept  from  the  hour  of  sunset  till 
eleven  the  same  evening,  and  never  quitted  his  quarters  until 
then,  we  might  hope  that  the  sentence  of  Curador  Benedicto, 
as  to  the  length  of  time  life  had  been  extinct  in  his  supposed 
victim,  might  weigh  strongly  against  the  circumstantial  chain 
of  evidence  brought  against  him.  Believing  that  the  prisoner 
having  slept  from  the  hour  of  sunset  to  eleven  was  a  proven 
and  witnessed  fact,  I  undertook  the  defensive  and  argued 
in  his  favor.  The  sounds  heard  by  the  girl  Beta  may  or  may 
not  have  proceeded  from  the  stealthy  movements  of  the  ac 
cused,  and  yet  justice  forbids  our  passing  them  by  unnoticed. 
The  time  of  this  movement  being  heard,  and  that  of  the 
murder,  according  to  the  leech's  evidence,  tally  so  exactly 
that  we  cannot  doubt  but  the  one  had  to  do  with  the  other  ; 
but  whether  it  were  indeed  the  prisoner's  step,  or  that  of  the 
base  purloiner  of  his  sword,  your  united  judgment  must  de 
cide.  Individual  supposition,  in  a  matter  of  life  or  death, 
can  be  of  no  avail.  My  belief,  as  you  may  have  discovered, 


140  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS) 

inclines  to  the  prisoner's  innocence.  My  brother,  the  chief 
Hermano,  as  strongly  believes  in  his  guilt.  And  it  would 
appear  as  if  the  evidence  itself,  supports  the  one  judgment 
equally  with  the  other  ;  contradictory  and  complicated,  it  has 
yet  been  truthfully  brought  forward  and  strictly  examined. 
Your  united  judgment,  Senors  and  Hermanos,  must  therefore 
decide  the  prisoner's  fate." 

"  But  under  your  favor,  Reverned  Father,  all  the  evidence 
has  not  been  brought  forward,"  rejoined  the  chief  Hemano. 
1  And  inethinks  that  which  is  still  to  come  is  the  most  im 
portant  of  the  whole.  That  the  business  is  complicated,  and 
judgment  most  difficult,  I  acknowledge,  and  therefore 
gladly  avail  myself  of  any  remaining  point  on  which  the 
scale  may  turn.  Sworn  as  I  am  to  administer  impartial  jus 
tice,  prejudice  against  the  prisoner  I  can  have  none  ;  but  the 
point  we  have  until  now  overlooked,  appears  sufficient  to  de 
cide  not  only  individual  but  general  opinion.  I  mean  the 
premeditated  vengeance  sworn  by  the  prisoner  against  the 
deceased — long  indulged  and  proclaimed  enmity,  and  pre 
meditated  determination  to  take  his  life  or  lose  his  own.  Don 
Ferdinand  Morales — be  his  soul  assoilized  ! — was  so  univer 
sally  beloved,  so  truly  the  friend  of  all  ranks  and  conditions 
of  men,  that  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  any  other  enmity 
towards  his  person  is  almost  impossible.  We  have  evidence 
that  the  prisoner  was  at  feud  with  him — was  harboring  some 
design  against  him  for  weeks.  It  may  be  he  \?as  even  refused 
by  Don  Ferdinand  the  meeting  he  desired,  and  so  sought 
vengeance  by  the  midnight  dagger.  Let  the  evidence  of  this 
enmity  be  examined,  and  according  or  not  as  premeditated 
malice  is  elicited,  so  let  your  judgment  be  pronounced." 

"  Ay,  so  let  it  be,"  muttered  the  King  as  a  loud  murmur 
of  assent  ran  through  the  hall.  "  "We  have  two  witnesses  for 
this ;  and,  by  heaven,  if  the  one  differ  from  the  other  in  the 
smallest  point,  the  prisoner  may  still  be  reprieved  !" 

Whether  the  royal  observation  was  heard  or  not,  there 
was  no  rejoinder,  for  at  the  summoning  of  the  chief  Hermano, 
Don  Luis  Garcia  stood  before  the  assemblage.  His  appear 
ance  excited  surprise  in  many  present,  and  in  none  more 
than  the  prisoner  himself.  He  raised  his  head,  which  had 
been  resting  on  his  hand  during  the  address  of  the  Sub-Prior, 
and  the  reply  of  the  Hermano,  and  looked  at  the  new  witness 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  141 

with  bewildered  astonishment.  As  Don  Luis  continued  his 
relation  of  the  stormy  interview  between  the  deceased  and 
the  accused,  and  the  words  of  threatening  used  by  the  latter, 
astonishment  itself,  changed  into  an  indignation  and  loathing 
impossible  to  be  restrained. 

"  Thou  base  dishonored  villain  !"  he  exclaimed,  so  sudden 
ly  and  wrathfully  that  it  startled  more  by  its  strange  contrast 
with  his  former  calmness  than  by  its  irreverent  interruption 
to  the  formula  of  the  examination  ;  "  where  wert  thou  during 
this  interview  ?  Hearing  so  well,  and  so  invisibly  concealed, 
none  but  the  voluntary  spy  could  have  heard  all  this  ;  so 
skilfully  detailed  that  thou  wouldst  seem  in  very  truth  witness 
As  well  as  hearer.  What  accident  could  have  led  thee  to  the 
most  retired  part  of  Don  Ferdinand's  garden,  and,  being 
there,  detained  thee  ?  Thou  treacherous  villain !  and  on 
thy  evidence — evidence  so  honorably,  so  truthfully  obtained, 
my  life  or  death  depends  !  Well,  be  it  so." 

"  But  so  it  shall  not  be,"  interposed  the  King  himself,  ere 
either  Sub-Prior  or  the  Hermano  could  reply ;  "  even  as  the 
prisoner,  we  ourselves  hold  evidence  dishonestly  obtained  of 
little  moment — naj^  of  no  weight  whatever.  Be  pleased, 
Don  Luis  Garcia,  to  explain  the  casualty  which  led  you,  at 
such  an  important  moment,  to  Don  Ferdinand's  grounds  ;  or 
name  some  other  witness.  The  voluntary  listener  is,  in  our 
mind,  dishonorable  as  the  liar,  and  demanding  no  more 
account." 

With  a  mien  and  voice  of  the  deepest  humility,  Don  Luis 
replied ;  grieving  that  his  earnest  love  of  justice  should  ex 
pose  him  to  the  royal  displeasure ;  submitting  meekly  to  un 
just  suspicion  as  concerned  himself,  but  still  upholding  the 
truth  and  correctness  of  his  statement.  The  other  witness 
to  the  same,  he  added  mysteriously,  he  had  already  named  to 
his  Royal  Highness, 

"  And  she  waits  our  pleasure,"  replied  the  King ;  "  Don 
Felix  d'Estaban,  be  pleased  to  conduct  the  last  witness  to  our 
presence." 


142  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS J 


CHAPTER  XX. 

But  love  is  strong.  There  came 
Strength  upon  Woman's  fragile  heart  and  frame  , 
There  came  swift  courage. 

MRS.  HEMANS. 
Death  has  no  pang 
More  keen  than  this.    Oh,  wherefore  art  thou  here  1 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

A  PROFOUND  silei.ce  followed  Don  Felix's  departure.  Don 
Luis  had  &o  evidently  evaded  the  King's  demand,  as  to  how 
he  had  witnessed  this  important  interview,  that  even  those 
most  prejudiced  in  his  favor,  on  account  of  his  extreme 
sanctity,  found  themselves  doubting  his  honor ;  and  those 
who  had  involuntarily  been  prejudiced  against  him,  by  the 
indefinable  something  pervading  his  countenance  and  voice, 
doubly  rejoiced  that  their  unspoken  antipathy  had  some 
foundation.  In  modern  courts  of  justice,  to  refuse  the 
validity  of  evidence  merely  because  the  manner  of  obtaining 
it  was  supposed  dishonorable,  would  be  pronounced  the  acme 
of  folly  and  romance.  In  the  age  of  which  we  write,  and  in 
Spain  especially,  the  sense  of  honor  was  so  exquisitely  re 
fined,  that  the  King's  rebuke,  and  determination  not  to 
allow  the  validity  of  Don  Luis's  evidence,  unless  confirmed 
by  an  honorable  witness,  excited  no  surprise  whatever ;  every 
noble,  nay,  every  one  of  the  Associated  Brethren,  there  pres 
ent,  would  have  said  the  same  ;  and  the  eager  wonder,  as  to 
the  person  of  the  witness  on  whom  so  much  stress  was  laid, 
became  absolutely  intense.  The  prisoner  was  very  evidently 
agitated ;  his  cheek  flushed  and  paled  in  rapid  alternation, 
and  a  suppressed  but  painful  exclamation  escaped  from  him 
as  Don  Felix  re-entered,  leading  with  him  a  female  form ; 
but  the  faint  sound  was  unheard,  save  by  the  King  and  the 
Sub-Prior,  who  had  been  conversing  apart  during  d'Estaban's 
absence — lost  in  the  irrepressible  burst  of  wonder  and  sym 
pathy,  which  broke  from  all  within  the  hall,  as  in  the  new 
witness,  despite  the  change  of  garb,  and  look,  from  the  daz 
zling  beauty  of  health  and  peace,  to  the  attenuated  form  of 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  143 

anxiety  and  sorrow,  they  recognized  at  once  the  widow  of 
the  murdered,  Donna  Marie.  Nor  was  this  universal  sym 
pathy  lessened,  when,  on  partially  removing  her  veil,  to 
permit  a  clear  view  of  the  scene  around  her,  her  sweet  face 
was  disclosed  to  all — profoundly,  almost  unnaturally,  calm, 
indeed — but  the  cheek  and  lips  were  perfectly  colorless  ;  the 
ashy  whiteness  of  the  former  rendered  them  more  striking 
from  the  long  black  lash  resting  upon  it,  unwetted  by  a 
single  tear :  and  from  the  peculiarly  dark  eye  appearing  the 
larger,  from  the  attenuation  of  the  other  features.  One  steady 
and  inquiring  glance  she  was  seen  to  fix  upon  the  prisoner, 
and  then  she  bent  in  homage  to  the  Sovereign ;  &,nd  emotion, 
if  there  were  any,  passed  unseen. 

"  Sit,  lady,"  said  the  King,  with  ready  courtesy,  touched 
more  than  he  could  have  imagined  possible,  by  the  change 
fourteen  short  days  had  wrought.  "  We  would  feign  render 
this  compelled  summons  as  brief  and  little  fatiguing  as  may 
be ;  none  can  grieve  more  than  ourselves  at  this  harsh  in 
trusion  on  thy  hours  of  sorrow ;  but  in  a  great  measure  the 
doom  of  life  or  death  rests  with  thee,  and  justice  forbids 
our  neglecting  evidence  so  important.  Yet  sit,  lady;  we 
command  it." 

"  It  needs  not,  gracious  Sovereign  ;  my  strength  will  not 
fail  me,"  replied  Marie,  her  sweet  voice  falling  distinctly  on 
every  ear,  while  Stanley  started  at  its  calmness ;  and  she 
gracefully  refused  the  seat  Don  Felix  proffered.  "  Give 
no  more  thought  to  me  than  to  any  other  witness ;  it  is  not 
a  subject's  place  to  sit  in  presence  of  her  Sovereign." 

But  Ferdinand's  kindliest  feelings  were  excited,  and  in 
stead  of  permitting  the  Sub-Prior  to  give  the  necessary  de 
tails,  he  himself,  with  characteristic  brevity,  but  clearly  and 
kindly,  narrated  the  progress  of  the  evidence  for  and  against 
the  prisoner,  and  how  great  the  weight  laid  on  the  proofs,  if 
there  were  any,  of  acknowledged  enmity,  and  premeditated 
injury,  on  the  part  of  the  accused  towards  the  deceased. 
The  questions  to  which  he  was  compelled  to  request  her  re 
ply  were  simply,  "  Was  she  aware  of  any  cause  of  hatred 
existing  between  the  accused  and  the  deceased  ?"  "  Had  she 
ever  heard  opprobrious  and  insulting  epithets  used  by  the 
former  or  the  latter  ?"  "  or  any  threat,  implying  that  the 
death  of  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  was  desired  by  the  prison- 


144  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

er?"  "  Had  she  ever  seen  the  prisoner  draw  his  sword  upon 
the  deceased? — and  had  she  any  reason  to  believe  that  Don 
Ferdinand  had  ever  refused,  or  intended  to  refuse  to  meet 
the  prisoner  in  honorable  combat,  and  so  urged  the  gratifica 
tion  of  vengeance  by  a  deed  of  murder  1  Reverend  Father," 
continued  the  King,  "  be  pleased  yourself  to  administer  the 
customary  oath." 

Father  Francis  instantly  rose  from  his  seat,  and  taking 
the  large  and  richly  embossed  silver  crucifix  from  the  Monk, 
who  had  administered  the  oath  to  all  the  other  witnesses, 
himself  approached  Marie.  "  Marie  Henriquez  Morales,"  he 
said,  as  he  reverentially  held  the  solemn  symbol  of  his  re 
ligion  before  her,  "  art  thou  well  advised  of  the  solemnity 
of  the  words  thou  art  called  upon  to  speak  ?  If  so,  swear 
to  speak  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth.  Swear  by  the  Holy  Symbol  which  I  support ;  by  the 
unpronounceable  name  of  the  Father,  by  the  flesh  and  blood, 
the  resurrection  and  the  life  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Christ 
Jesu ;  by  the  Holy  Spirit ;  by  the  saving  and  glorious 
Trinity;  by  the  goodly  army  of  Saints  and  Martyrs; 
daughter,  swear,  and  the  blessing  or  the  curse  be  with  you 
as  you  swear  true  or  falsely." 

The  fine  countenance  of  the  Sub-Prior  glowed  with  the 
holy  enthusiasm  of  his  appeal ;  his  form,  as  he  stood,  one 
hand  clasping  the  crucifix,  the  other  emphatically  raised, 
seemed  dilated  to  unusual  height  and  majesty,  and  the  deep 
solemnity  of  his  accents  so  enhanced  the  awful  responsibility 
of  the  oath,  that  it  thrilled  throughout  the  multitude  as  it 
had  never  done  before.  So  deep  was  the  stillness  which  fol 
lowed,  that  not  one  of  those  vast  crowds  seemed  to  breathe. 
To  the  prisoner  it  was  a  moment  of  intense  emotion :  for  if, 
indeed,  Marie  had  once  told  him  truth,  that  oath,  to  her, 
even  in  its  solemnity,  was  as  nought ;  but  ere  he  could  even 
think  as  to  the  wording  of  her  answer,  that  answer  came,  and 
so  distinct,  so  unfalteringly  spoken,  that  there  was  not  one 
person  present  who  even  strained  his  ear  to  catch  the  words. 

"  Reverend  Father,"  she  said,  "  I  am  grateful  for  thy 
counsel ;  and,  believe  me,  am  well  advised  of  the  truth  and  so 
lemnity  of  the  words  I  speak.  But  I  cannot  aid  his  Grace, 
and  these  his  subjects,  in  their  decision  as  to  the  prisoner's 
sentence.  My  evidence  is  valueless.  I  belong  to  that  race 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  145 

whose  word  is  never  taken  as  witness,  for  or  against,  in  a  court 
of  justice.  I  cannot  take  the  oath  required,  for  I  deny  the 
faith  in  which  it  is  administered.  I  am  a  JEWESS  !" 

A  wild  cry,  in  every  variety  of  intonation — astonishment, 
horror,  wrath,  and  perhaps  terror,  ran  through  the  hall— 
from  Sovereign,  Noble,  Monk,  and  Citizen,  simultaneously. 
Father  Francis  staggered  back  several  paces,  as  if  there  were 
contamination  in  remaining  by  her  side,  and  then  stood  as 
rooted  to  the  ground,  his  hand  convulsively  grasping  the 
crucifix  which  had  nearly  fallen  from  his  hold ;  his  lips  apart, 
his  nostrils  slightly  distended,  and  his  eyes  almost  starting 
from  their  sockets,  in  the  horrified  and  astonished  gaze  he 
fixed  upon  the  pale  and -fragile  being  who  had  darei  speak 
such  impious  words.  The  attendant  fathers  rose  simultane- 
"ously,  and  formed  a  semicircle  round  their  superior,  ready, 
at  his  slightest  signal,  to  hurl  down  on  her  the  anathema  of 
the  church  ;  reverence  to  the  Sub-Prior  alone  preventing  the 
urse  from  instantly  bursting  forth.  The  nobles,  the  Asso 
ciated  Brethren,  Ferdinand  himself,  started  almost  uncon 
sciously  to  their  feet,  and  an  eager  rush  brought  many  of  the 
citizens  ^still  nearer  to  the  scene  of  action.  The  prisoner, 
with  an  irresistible  impulse,  darted  forwards,  and  ere  any  one 
had  recovered  from  his  trance  of  bewilderment,  had  flung 
himself  at  Marie's  feet. 

"  Marie  !  Marie  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  so  hoarse  and 
choked,  its  words  were  heard  by  her  alone.  "  Oh  !  why  hast 
thou  done  this  ?  Why  not  take  the  required  oath,  and  con 
demn  me  at  once?  Marie,  I  am  unworthy  of  such  self- 
sacrifice  !" 

"  Ha  !  didst  thou  slay  him  then  ?  Have  I  judged  thee 
too  kindly,  Arthur,"  she  answered  :  and  the  hand  she  laid 
heavily  on  his  shoulder  trembled  so  violently,  it  was  evident 
she  had  thus  placed  it  only  to  save  her  from  sinking  to  the 
ground,  for  the  unnatural  strength  had  gone. 

"  No  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  and  with  a  look  that  satis 
fied  her  at  once,  and  there  was  no  time  for  more.  The  King 
had  perceived  that  the  Sub-Prior  was  recovering  composure, 
an  d  with  it  energy  of  action ;  though  himself  a  zealous  Catholic, 
he  felt  compelled  to  save  Marie.  "Hold!  hold!"  he  said 
hastily,  as  Father  Francis  was  about  to  speak.  «  Reverend 
Father,  we  j  ray  thee,  be  not  over  hasty  in  this  matter ;  these 


146  THE    VALE  OF   CEDARS  ] 

are  strange  and  terrible  words ;  but  they  are  meaningless  ; 
they  must  be.  Her  misery  has  turned  her  brain  ;  she  is 
mad ;  heed  her  not ;  be  silent  all  of  ye  !  See  how  she  glares 
upon  the  prisoner  !  Is  that  the  look  of  sanity  ?  13y  St. 
Francis,  we  have  done  wrong  to  call  her  hither !  Stand 
back,  good  fathers.  Kemove  the  prisoner ;  and  let  Donna 
Marie  be  conducted  from  the  hall.  Our  Consort  should  have 
warned  us  of  this !" 

"  Forbear,  my  liege !"  replied  the  Sub-Prior  sternly. 
"The  blaspheming  words  were  all  too  calmly  and  collective 
ly  spoken  for  the  ravings  of  madness.  Let  not  the  false  un 
believer  pass  hence  till  at  least  she  has  done  reverence  to  the 
sacred  symbol,  she  has,  by  daring  denial,  insulted.  As  thou 
wouldst  save  thine  own  soul  from  hell-fire,  my  liege,  interfere 
not  in  this !" 

As  he  spoke,  several  soldiers  had  endeavored  rudely  to 
drag  Arthur  from  Marie :  he  strove  fiercely  for  freedom,  for 
but  one  hour's  power  to  protect  her,  but  in  vain.  And  the 
look  she  fixed  upon  him,  as  he  was  torn  from  her,  from  its 
contrast  with  her  previous  profound  calm,  did  indeed  seem 
almost  of  madness.  The  excitement  which  had  enabled  her 
to  make  this  dread  avowal — an  avowal  comprising  such 
variety,  and  terrible  danger,  that  the  magnitude  of  the  sacri 
fice  comprised  in  the  confession  can  now  scarcely  be  under 
stood  ;  danger,  not  merely  from  the  vengeance  of  the  church 
for  long  years  of  fraud,  nor  from  the  secret  and  awful  tribunal 
of  whose  existence  she  was  conscious  (though  not  of  its  close 
vicinity) ;  not  merely  these,  but  danger  from  the  wrath  and 
terrors  of  the  secret  members  of  her  own  faith,  who  might  na 
turally  imagine  their  own  safety  endangered  in  the  suspicion, 
engendered  by  her  rash  confession.  Of  all  this  she  had 
thought;  had  believed  herself  strengthened  to  brave  and 
bear  every  possible  suffering,  rather  than  breathe  those 
words  which  must  seal  Stanley's  fate ;  but  now  that  she  had 
spoken,  though  she  would  not  have  recalled  them  if  she  could 
— such  an  overpowering,  crushing  sense  of  all  she  had  drawn 
upon  herself,  such  fearful,  spectral  shapes  of  indefinable 
horror  came  upon  her.  that,  as  the  Sub-Prior  stood  again 
before  her  with  the  uplifted  cross,  bidding  her  kneel  and 
acknowledge  him  whose  fate  it  imaged — she  burst  into  a 
wild  hysteric  laugh,  and  fell  prone  upon  the  floor. 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  147 

"  Said  I  not  she  was  mad  ?  And  what  need  was  there 
for  this  unmanly  violence?"  angrily  exclaimed  the  Monarch; 
and,  starting  from  his  seat,  he  authoritatively  waved  back  the 
denouncing  monks,  and  himself  bent  over  Marie.  The  Duke 
of  Murcia,  Don  Felix  d'Estaban,  the  Lord  of  Aguilar.  and 
several  other  nobles  following  the  Sovereign's  example,  hast 
ened  to  her  assistance.  But  to  restore  animation  was  not  in 
their  power,  and  on  the  King's  whispered  commands,  Don 
Felix  gently,  even  tenderly  raised  her,  and  bore  her  in  his 
arms  from  the  hall.  Even  in  that  moment  of  excitement 
Ferdinand  could  not  forbear  glancing  at  the  prisoner,  whose 
passionate  struggles  to  escape  from  the  guard,  when  Marie 
fell,  had  been  noticed  by  all,  and  unhappily,  combined  with 
his  previous  irritation,  but  confirmed  the  unspoken  suspi 
cions  of  many  as  to  the  real  cause  of  his  enmity  against  Don 
Ferdinand.  The  expression  of  his  countenance  was  of  such 
contending,  terrible  suffering,  that  the  King  hastily  withdrew 
his  gaze,  vainly  endeavoring  to  disbelieve,  as  he  had  done, 
the  truth  of  Garcia's  charge. 

Order  was  at  length  universally  restored,  and  after  a 
brief  silence,  the  chief  of  the  Santa  Hermandad  demanded  of 
the  prisoner  if  he  had  aught  to  say  in  his  defence,  or  reply 
himself  to  Don  Luis  Garcia's  charge.  The  reply  was  a  stern, 
determined  negative  ;  and,  deputed  so  to  do  by  the  Sub-Prior, 
who  seemed  so  absorbed  in  the  horror  of  Marie's  daring 
avowal,  as  to  be  incapable  of  further  interference,  the  Her- 
mano  proceeded  to  sum  up  the  evidence.  As  the  widow  of 
the  deceased  had  so  strangely,  yet  effectually  deprived  them 
of  her  evidence,  he  said,  he  thought  some  slight  regard  ought 
to  be  paid  to  Don  Luis  Garcia's  words ;  but  even  without 
doing  so,  the  circumstantial  evidence,  though  contradictory 
and  complicated,  was  enough  in  his  opinion  to  convict  the 
prisoner ;  but  he  referred  to  his  associates  and  to  the  peers 
then  present,  to  pronounce  sentence.  His  task  was  but  to 
sum  up  the  evidence,  which  he  trusted  he  had  done  distinct 
ly  ;  his  opinion  was  that  of  but  one  individual ;  there  were 
at  least  fifty  or  sixty  voices,  to  confirm  or  to  oppose  it. 

Deep  and  sustained  as  had  been  the  interest  throughout 
the  trial,  it  was  never  more  intense  than  during  the  awful 
pause  which  heralded  the  prisoner's  doom.  It  was  spoken 
at  length ;  the  majority  alike  of  the  nobles  and  of  the  Santa 


148  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

Hermandad,  believed  and  pronounced  him  guilty,  and  sen 
tence  of  death  was  accordingly  passed ;  but  the  Duke  of 
Murcia  then  stepped  forward,  and  urged  the  following,  not 
only  in  the  name  of  his  brother  peers,  but  in  the  name  of 
his  native  sovereign,  Isabella ;  that  in  consideration  of  the 
complicated  and  contradictory  evidence,  of  the  prisoner's 
previous  high  character,  and  of  his  strongly  protested  in 
nocence,  a  respite  of  one  month  should  be  granted  between 
sentence  and  execution,  to  permit  prayers  to  be  offered  up 
throughout  Spain  for  the  discovery  of  the  real  murderer,  ox 
at  least  allow  time  for  some  proof  of  innocence  to  appear ; 
during  which  time  the  prisoner  should  be  removed  from  the 
hateful  dungeon  he  had  till  that  morning  occupied,  and  con 
fined  under  strict  ward,  in  one  of  the  turrets  of  the  castle ; 
and  that,  if  at  the  end  of  the  granted  month  affairs  remained 
as  they  were  then,  that  no  proof  of  innocence  appeared,  a 
scaffold  was  to  be  erected  in  the  Calle  Soledad,  on  the  exact 
spot  where  the  murder  was  committed ;  there  the  prisoner, 
publicly  degraded  from  the  honors  and  privileges  of  chivalry, 
his  sword  broken  before  him,  his  spurs  ignominiously  struck 
from  his  heels,  would  then  receive  the  award  of  the  law,  death 
from  hanging,  the  usual  fate  of  the  vilest  and  commonest 
malefactors. 

Ferdinand  and  the  Sub-Prior  regarded  him  attentively 
while  this  sentence  was  pronounced,  but  not  a  muscle  in  his 
countenance  moved ;  what  it  expressed  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  define ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  his  thoughts  were  on 
other  than  himself.  The  King  courteously  thanked  the 
assemblage  for  their  aid  in  a  matter  so  momentous,  and  at 
once  ratified  their  suggestion.  The  Associated  Brethren 
were  satisfied  that  it  was  Isabella's  will ;  confident  also  in 
their  own  power  to  prevent  the  evasion,  and  bring  about  the 
execution  of  the  sentence,  if  still  required,  at  the  termination 
of  the  given  time ;  and  with  a  brief  but  impressive  address 
from  the  Sub-Prior  to  the  prisoner,  the  assemblage  dis 
persed. 

But  the  excitement  of  the  city  ceased  not  with  the  con 
clusion  of  the  trial :  not  alone  the  populace,  but  the  nobles 
themselves,  even  the  Holy  Fathers  and  Associated  Brethren 
were  seen,  forming  in  various  groups,  conversing  eagerly  and 
mysteriously.  The  interest  in  the  prisoner  had  in  some 


OH,    THE    MARTYR.  149 

measure  given  way  to  a  new  excitement.  Question  followed 
question,  conjecture  followed  conjecture,  but  nothing  could 
solve  the  mystery  of  Donna  Marie's  terrible  avowal,  or  de 
crease  the  bewilderment  and  perplexity  which,  from  various 
causes,  it  created  in  every  mind.  One  alone,  amongst  the 
vast  crowds  which  had  thronged  the  trial,  shunned  his 
fellows.  Not  a  change  in  the  calm,  cold,  sneering  expression 
of  Don  Luis  Garcia's  countenance  had  betrayed  either  sur 
prise  at,  or  sympathy  with,  any  one  of  the  various  emotions 
stirring  that  vast  multitude  of  human  hearts ;  he  had 
scarcely  even  moved  his  position  during  the  continuance  of 
the  trial,  casting  indeed  many  a  glance  on  the  immediate 
scene  of  action,  from  beneath  his  thick  and  shadowy  eye 
brows,  which  concealed  the  sinister  gaze  from  observation. 
He  shunned  the  face  of  day ;  but  in  his  own  dark  haunts, 
and  with  his  hellish  colleagues,  plans  were  formed  and  acted 
on,  with  a  rapidity  which,  to  minds  less  matured  in  iniquity, 
would  have  seemed  incredible. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd, 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  Heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath.    It  is  twice  blessed, 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes ; 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest ;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  interest  attending  a  trial,  in  which  royalty  had  evinced 
such  powerful  sympathy,  naturally  extended  to  every  member 
of  Isabella's  female  train :  her  anxiety  as  to  the  issue  had  been 
very  visible,  notwithstanding  her  calm  and  quiet  demeanor. 
The  Infanta  Isabella  and  the  Infant  Don  Juan  were  with 
her  during  the  morning  as  usual ;  but  even  their  infantile 
caresses,  dearer  to  her  true  woman's  heart  than  all  her  vast 
possessions,  had  failed  to  disperse  the  anxiety  of  thought. 
Few  can  peruse  the  interesting  life  of  Isabella  of  Castile 


15C  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

without  being  struck  by  the  fact,  that  even  as  her  public 
career  was  one  of  unmixed  prosperity  for  her  country  and 
herself,  her  private  sorrows  and  domestic  trials  vied,  in  their 
bitterness,  with  those  of  the  poorest  and  humblest  of  her 
subjects.  Her  first-born,  the  Infanta  Isabella,  who  united 
all  the  brilliant  and.  endearing  qualities  of  her  mother,  with 
great  beauty,  both  of  face  and  form,  became  a  loving  bride 
o^y  to  become  a  widow — a  mother,  only  to  gaze  upon  Ver 
babe,  and  die  ;  and  her  orphan  quickly  followed.  Don  Juan, 
the  delight  and  pride  and  hope  of  his  parents,  as  of  the 
enthusiasm  and  almost  idolatry  of  their  subjects,  died  in  his 
twentieth  year.  The  hapless  Catherine  of  Arragon,  with 
whose  life  of  sorrow  and  neglect  every  reader  of  English 
history  is  acquainted,  though  they  sometimes  forget  her 
illustrious  parentage  j  her  sorrows  indeed  Isabella  was 
spared,  as  she  died  before  Henry  the  Eighth  ascended  the 
English  throne.  But  it  was  Juana,  the  wife  of  Philip,  and 
mother  of  Charles  V.,  whose  intellects,  always  feeble,  and 
destroyed  by  the  neglect  and  unkindness  of  the  husband  she 
idolized,  struck  the  last  and  fatal  blow.  And  she,  whom  all 
Europe  regarded  with  unfeigned  veneration — she  whom  her 
own  subjects  so  idolized,  they  would  gladly  have  laid  down  a 
thousand  lives  for  hers — she  fell  a  victim  to  a  mother's  heart- 
consuming  grief*  Who  then,  after  perusing  her  life,  and 
that  of  how  many  other  sovereigns,  will  refuse  them  the 
meed  of  sympathy,  because,  raised  so  far  above  us  in  out 
ward  things,  we  deem  the  griefs  and  feelings  of  common 
humanity  unknown  and  uncared  for?  To  our  mind,  the 
destiny  of  the  Sovereign,  the  awful  responsibility,  the  utter 
loneliness  of  sation,  the  general  want  of  sympathy,  the  prone- 
ness  to  be  condemned  for  faults  or  omissions  of  which  they 
are,  individually,  as  innocent  as  their  contemners,  present  a 
subject  for  consideration  and  sympathy,  and  ought  to  check 
the  unkind  thoughts  and  hasty  condemnation,  excited  merely 
because  they  are  placed  in  rank  and  circumstances  above  us. 

*  Isabella  had  been  previously  attacked  by  dangerous  indisposi 
tion,  from  which,  however,  the  natural  strength  of  her  constitution 
would  have  enabled  her  in  some  degree  to  rally ;  but  the  springs  of 
life  had  been  injured  by  previous  bereavement.  Her  lungs  became 
affected,  and  the  symptoms  of  decline  rapidly  and  fatally  increased 
from  continual  affliction  of  mind. — History  of  Spain. 


Oil,   THE   MARTYR.  151 

A  King  of  kings  has  placed  them  there,  and  a  Universal 
'Father  calls  them  His  children,  even  as  ourselves. 

Isabella  had  not  seen  Marie  that  morning ;  her  trusty 
attendant,  Donna  Inez  de  Leon,  had  alone  been  with  her, 
and  had  reported  that  she  was  calm  and  composed,  and  more 
like  herself  than  she  had  been  since  her  bereavement.  Time 
passed  but  slowly,  and  Catherine  Pas,  the  same  high-spirited 
maiden  mentioned  in  a  former  chapter,  perceiving  that  the 
Queen's  anxiety  evidently  increased  as  the  hours  waned, 
quietly  left  the  chamber,  unbidden,  and  even  unseen.  A 
brief  interval  saw  her  return,  and  with  a  countenance  so  ex 
pressive  of  horrified  bewilderment,  as  to  excite  the  astonish 
ment  of  all. 

"  Oh,  madam  !"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  flew  to  the  Queen  s 
seat,  regardless  of  either  decorum  or  rebuke  ;  "  Oh,  madam, 
it  has  killed  her  ;  she  is  dying  !" 

"  Dying !"  repeated  Isabella,  and  the  whole  strength  < 
her  character  was  put  forth  to  prevent  her  starting  from  her 
seat.      "Dying!— who    is   dying?      Speak   out,    m    banta 
Maria's  name  !" 

«  Donna  Marie— the  poor,  unhappy  Marie  ;  she  has  been 
borne  from  the  hall !  Don  Felix  had  her  in  his  arms  I  . 
saw  her  ;  I  followed  them,  and  she  looked  dead,  quite  dead  : 
they  would  not  let  me  go  to  her  at  first,  till  I  called  them 
hard-hearted  wretches  !  And  I  have  tried  to  rouse  her,  but 
I  could  not.  Oh,  save  her,  gracious  madam  !  Do  not  let 

«  And  have  they  none  with  her  ?"  demanded  the  Queen. 
"  But  whom  can  they  have,  save  her  own  terrified  women  1 
Inez— Leonor— go  to  her  at  once  !  Your  skill  and  tender 
ness  will  soon  revive  her;  this  silly  child  is  terrified  at 
shadows.  'Tis  but  a  faint,  such  as  followed  the  announce 
ment  of  her  husband's  death.  If  any  one  dare  refuse  you 
entrance,  tell  them  you  go  in  your  Queen's  name.  Foolish 
trembler,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  relief,  as  her  commands 
were  instantly  obeyed,  "  why  this  excessive  agitation,  when 
thou  hast  seen  a  faint  like  this  before  ?" 

"  Nay,  but  by  your  leave,  gracious  madam,  I  have  not,' 
replied  Catherine,  with  emotion.      "There  is  far  more  of 
horror  in  this  ;  she  is  cold— cold,  like  stone ;  and  they  have 
planted  a  guard  at  the  entrance  of  her  apartments,  and  they 
tell  a  tale  so  wild  and  strange,  I  cannot  give  it  credence  1" 


152  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS, 

"Ha  !  what  say  they?"  demanded  the  Queen  hastily,  her 
eyes  flashing  with  light,  as  they  always  did  when  she  was  ex 
cited.  "  What  can  it  be,  too  wild  and  strange  for  thy  hair- 
brained  fancy  to  believe  ?  Marvellous  it  must  be  indeed  !" 

"  Isabella  spoke  jestingly,  but  her  heart  was  not  with  her 
words  :  and  Catherine  replied  with  tears  starting  to  her  eyes, 
"  Oh,  do  not  speak  thus,  my  liege.  It  is  indeed  no  theme  for 
jest.;J  And  she  continued  so  rapidly,  that  to  any  but  the 
quickened  mind  of  Isabella,  her  words  must  have  seemed  un 
intelligible.  "  They  say  she  is  a  heretic,  royal  madam ' 
Nay,  worse — a  blaspheming  unbeliever  ;  that  she  has  refused 
to  take  the  oath,  on  plea  of  not  believing  in  the  Holy  Catho 
lic  Church ;  that  she  has  insulted,  has  trampled  on  the 
sacred  cross  !  Nor  is  this  all — worse,  yet  worse  ;  they  say 
she  has  proclaimed  herself  a  JEWESS  ! — an  abhorred,  an  un 
believing  Jewess  !" 

A  general  start  and  loud  exclamation  of  horror  was  the 
natural  rejoinder  to  this  unlooked-for  intelligence ;  but  not 
from  Isabella,  whose  flashing  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the 
young  girl's  face,  as  to  read  in  her  soul  the  confirmation  of 
these  strange  words.  "What  dost  thou  say'^"  she  said  at 
length,  and  so  slowly,  a  second  might  have  intervened  be 
tween  each  word.  "  Speak  !  let  me  hear  again  !  A  Jewess  ! 
Santa  Maria  !  But  no ;  it  cannot  be.  They  must  have  told 
thee  false  !" 

So  the  Queen  spoke  ;  but  ere  Catherine  had  concluded  a 
calmer  repetition  of  the  tale,  Marie's  words  of  the  preceding 
evening  rushed  back  on  her  mind,  confirming  it  but  too  sure 
ly.  "  To-morrow  all  will  be  distinct  and  clear  enough  !"  she 
had  said ;  ay,  distinct  it  was ;  and  so  engrossingly  intense 
became  the  thoughts  thronging  in  her  mind,  bewildering  suc 
cession,  that  Isabella  sat  motionless,  her  brow  leaning  on  her 
hand,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  time. 

A  confusion  in  the  gallery,  and  the  words,  "  The  King  ! 
the  King  !"  roused  her  at  length  ;  and  never  was  the  appear 
ance  of  Ferdinand  more  welcome,  not  only  to  Isabella,  but 
to  her  attendants,  as  giving  them  the  longed-for  opportunity 
to  retire,  and  so  satisfy  curiosity,  and  give  vent  to  the  won 
derment  which,  from  their  compelled  silence  in  Isabella's 
presence,  had  actually  become  intolerable. 

Ferdinand  speedily  narrated  the  affairs  of  the  morning, 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  153 

and  concluded  by  inquiring  if  any  thing  had  occurred  in  her 
interview  with  Marie  to  excite  suspicion  of  her  mad  design. 
The  Queen  replied  by  relating,  in  her  turn,  all  that  had 
passed  between  them.  The  idea  of  madness  could  no  longer 
exist ;  there  was  not  the  faintest  hope  that  in  a  moment  of 
frenzy  she  had  spoken  falsely. 

"  And  yet,  was  it  not  madness,"  the  King  urged,  "  thus 
publicly  to  avow  a  determined  heresy,  and  expose  herself  to 
all  the  horrors  of  the  church's  vengeance !  '  Years  of  de 
ception  and  fraud  !'  she  told  thee,  '  would  be  disclosed.'  ]By 
St.  Francis  !  fraud  enough.  Who  could  have  suspocted  the 
wife  of  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  a  Jewess  1  It  was  on  thii 
account  he  kept  her  so  retired.  How  could  he  reconcile  his 
conscience  to  a  union  with  one  of  a  race  so  abhorred,  beau 
tiful  as  she  is  ?  And  where  could  he  have  found  her?  But 
this  matters  not :  it  is  all  wild  conjecture,  save  the  madness 
of  the  avowal.  What  cause  could  there  have  been  for  such 
self-sacrifice  ?" 

"There  was  a  cause,"  replied  the  Queen  earnestly; 
"  cause  enough  to  render  life  to  her  of  little  moment.  Do 
not  ask  me  my  meaning,  dearest  Ferdinand  ;  I  would  not  do 
her  such  wrong  as  to  breathe  the  suspicion  that,  spite  of  my 
self,  spite  of  incomprehensible  mystery,  will  come,  even  to 
thee.  Do  not  let  us  regret  her  secret  is  discovered.  Let  her 
but  recover  from  the  agony  of  these  repeated  trials,  and  with 
the  help  of  our  holy  fathers,  we  may  yet  turn  her  from  her 
abhorred  faith,  and  so  render  her  happy  in  this  world,  and 
secure  her  salvation  in  the  next." 

"  The  help  of  the  holy  fathers  !"  repeated  the  King. 
r  Nay,  Isabel,  their  sole  help  will  be  to  torture  and  burn  ! 
They  will  accuse  her  of  insulting,  by  years  of  deceit,  the 
holy  faith,  of  which  she  has  appeared  a  member.  Nay,  per 
chance  of  using  foul  magic  on  Morales  (whom  the  saints  pre 
serve),  and  then  thou  knowest  what  will  follow  !" 

The  Queen  shuddered.  "Never  with  my  consent,  my 
husband  !  From  the  first  moment  I  beheld  this  unfortunate, 
something  attracted  me  towards  her ;  her  misery  deepened 
the  feeling;  and  even  now,  knowing  what  she  is,  affection 
lingers.  The  Holy  Virgin  give  me  pardon,  if 'tis  sin  !" 

"  For  such  sin  I  will  give  thee  absolution,  dearest,"  re 
plied  the  King,  half  jestingly,  half  earnestly.  "  Do  not  look 


154  THE   VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

so  grave.  No  one  knows,  or  values  thy  sterling  piety  half  so 
tenderly  and  reverentially  as  I  do.  But  this  is  no  common 
case.  Were  Marie  one  of  those  base  and  grovelling  wretches, 
those  accursed  unbelievers,  who  taint  our  fair  realm  with  their 
abhorred  rites — think  of  nothing  but  gold  and  usury,  and 
how  best  to  cheat  their  fellows ;  hating  us  almost  as  intensely 
as  we  hate  them — why.  she  should  abide  by  the  fate  she  has 
drawn  upon  herself.  But  the  wife  of  my  noble  Morales,  one 
who  has  associated  so  long  with  zealous  Catholics,  that  she  is 
already  most  probably  one  of  us,  and  only  avowed  her  de 
scent  from  some  mysterious  cause — by  St.  Francis,  she  shall 
be  saved !" 

"  But  how  ?"  inquired  Isabella  anxiously.  "  Wouldst 
thou  deny  her  faith  to  Father  Francis,  and  persuade  him  she 
has  spoken  falsely  ?" 

The  King  shook  his  head.  "  That  will  never  do,  Isabel. 
I  have  had  the  holy  man  closeted  with  me  already,  insisting 
on  the  sanity  of  her  words,  and  urging  me  to  resign  the  unbe 
liever  at  once  to  the  tender  mercy  of  the  church.  All  must 
depend  on  thee." 

"  On  me  ?"  repeated  Isabella,  in  a  tone  of  surprised  yet 
anxious  inquiry. 

"  On  thee,  love.  Thy  perfect  humility  is  ignorant  of  the 
fact — yet  it  is  nevertheless  perfectly  true — that  thou  art 
reverenced,  well  nigh  canonized,  by  the  holy  church ;  and 
thy  words  will  have  weight  when  mine  would  be  light  as  air. 
Refuse  the  holy  fathers  all  access  to  her  ;  say  she  is  unfitted 
to  encounter  them  ;  that  she  is  ill  5  nay,  mad,  if  thou  wilt. 
Bring  forward  the  state  in  which  she  was  borne  from  the 
hall ;  her  very  laugh  (by  St.  Francis,  it  rings  in  my  ear  still) 
to  confirm  it,  and  they  will  believe  thee.  The  present  ex 
citement  will  gradually  subside,  and  her  very  existence  be 
forgotten.  Let  none  but  thy  steadiest,  most  pious  matrons 
have  access  to  her ;  forbid  thy  young  maidens  to  approach 
or  hold  converse  with  her ;  and  her  being  under  thy  protec 
tion  can  do  harm  to  none.  Let  her  be  prisoner  in  her  own 
apartments,  an  thou  wilt;  she  deserves  punishment  for  the 
deception  practised  towards  thee.  Treat  her  as  thou  deem- 
est  best,  only  give  her  not  up  to  the  mercy  of  the  church  !" 

"  Talk  not  of  it,"  replied  the  Queen  earnestly.  "  Unbe 
liever  though  she  be,  offspring  of  a  race  which  every  true 


155 

Catholic  must  hold  in  abhorrence,  she  is  yet  a  woman,  Fer 
dinand,  and,  as  such,  demands  and  shall  receive  the  protec 
tion  of  her  Queen.  Yet,  would  there  were  some  means  of 
saving  her  from  the  eternal  perdition  to  which,  as  a  Jewess, 
she  is  destined ;  some  method,  without  increase  of  suffering, 
to  allure  her,  as  a  penitent  and  believing  child,  to  the  bosom 
of  our  holy  mother  church." 

"  And  to  do  this,  who  so  fitted  as  thyself,  dearest  Isabel  ?" 
answered  the  King  with  earnest  affection.  "  Thou  hast  able 
assistants  in  some  of  thy  older  matrons,  and  may  aftor  a 
while  call  in  the  aid  of  Father  Denis,  whose  kindly  nature  is 
better  fitted  for  gentle  conversion  than  either  Francis,  or  thy 
still  sterner  chaplain,  Torquemada.  Thy  kindness  has  gained 
thce  the  love  of  this  misguided  one  ;  and  if  any  one  have  suffi 
cient  influence  to  convert,  by  other  than  sharp  means,  it  can 
only  be  thyself." 

Isabella  was  not  long  undecided.  Her  heart  felt  that  to 
turn  Marie  from  blindness  and  perdition  by  kindness  and  af 
fection  would  be  indeed  far  more  acceptable  to  the  virgin 
(her  own  peculiar  saint)  than  the  heretic's  blood,  and  she 
answered  with  animation,  "  Then  so  it  shall  be,  Ferdinand  ; 
I  fear  me,  alas !  that  there  will  be  little  reason  to  prevari 
cate,  to  deny  all  spiritual  access  to  her.  Thy  report,  com 
bined  with  my  terrified  Catherine's,  gives  me  but  little  hope 
for  health  or  reason.  But  should  she  indeed  recover,  trust 
ine  she  shall  be  happy  yet." 

Great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  guards  as  they  beheld 
their  Sovereign  fearlessly  enter  the  chamber  of  a  proclaimed 
Jewess — a  word  in  their  minds  synonymous  with  the  lowest, 
most  degraded  rank  of  being ;  and  yet  more,  to  hear  and 
perceive  that  she  herself  was  administering  relief.  The  at 
tendants  of  Isabella — whose  curiosity  was  now  more  than 
satisfied,  for  the  tale  had  been  repeated  with  the  usual  exag 
gerations,  even  to  a  belief  that  she  had  used  the  arts  of  sorce 
ry  on  Morales — huddled  together  in  groups,  heaping  every 
opprobrious  epithet  upon  her,  and  accusing  her  of  exposing 
them  all  to  the  horrors  of  purgatory  by  contaminating  them 
with  her -presence.  And  as  the  Sovereign  re-appeared  in  her 
saloon  with  the  leech  Benedicto,  whose  aid  she  had  summon 
ed,  there  were  many  who  ventured  to  conjure  her  not  to  ex 
pose  herself  to  such  pollution  as  the  tending  of  a  Jewess — 


15-5  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

to  leave  her  to  the  fate  her  fraud  so  merited.  Even  Cathe* 
rine.  finding  to  disbelieve  the  tale  any  longer  was  impossible, 
and  awed  and  terrified  at  the  mysterious  words  of  her  com 
panions,  which  told  of  danger  to  her  beloved  mistress,  flung 
herself  on  her  knees  before  her,  clasping  her  robe  to  detain 
her  from  again  seeking  the  chamber  of  Marie.  Then  was 
the  moment  for  a  painter  to  have  seized  on  the  face  and  form 
of  Isabella !  Her  eye  flashed  till  its  very  cclor  was  undis- 
tinguishable,  her  lip  curled,  every  feature — usually  so  mild 
and  feminine — was  so  transformed  by  indignation  into 
majesty  and  unutterable  scorn  as  scarcely  to  have  been  re-t 
cognized.  Her  slight  and  graceful  form  dilated  till  the  \  ery 
boldest  cowered  before  her,  even  before  she  spoke;  for  never 
had  they  so  encountered  her  reproof: — 

"  Are  ye  women  ?"  she  said  at  length,  in  the  quiet,  con 
centrated  tone  of  strong  emotion  ;  "  or  are  we  deceived  as 
to  the  meaning  of  your  words  ?  Pollution  !  Are  we  to  see 
a  young,  unhappy  being  perish  for  want  of  sympathy  and 
succor,  because — forsooth — she  is  a  Jewess  ?  Danger  to  our 
soul !  "We  should  indeed  fear  it ;  did  we  leave  her  to  die, 
without  one  effort  to  restore  health  to  the  frame,  and  the 
peace  of  Christ  to  the  mind !  Has  every  spark  of  woman's 
nature  faded  from  your  hearts,  that  ye  can  speak  thus  ?  If 
for  yourselves  you  fear,  tend  her  not,  approach  her  not — we 
will  ourselves  give  her  the  aid  she  needs.  And  as  for  thee," 
she  continued  severely,  as  she  forced  the  now  trembling 
Catherine  to  stand  upright  before  her,  "  whose  energy  to 
serve  Marie  we  loved  and  applauded ;  child  as  thou  art, 
must  thou  too  speak  of  pollution  1  but  example  may  have  done 
this.  Follow  me,  minion ;  and  then  talk  of  pollution  if  thou 
canst !"  And  with  a  swift  step  Isabella  led  the  way  to  the 
chamber  of  Marie. 

"  Behold !"  she  said  emphatically,  as  she  pointed  to  the 
unhappy  sufferer,  who,  though  restored  to  life,  was  still  ut 
terly  unconscious  where  she  was  or  who  surrounded  her ;  her 
cheek  and  brow,  white  and  damp  ;  her  large  eye  lustreless 
and  wandering  j  her  lip  and  eyelid  quivering  convulsively  j 
her  whole  appearance  proving  too  painfully  that  reason  had 
indeed,  for  the  time,  fled.  The  soul  had  been  strong  till  the  I 
dread  words  were  said ;  but  the  re-action  had  been  too  much 
for  cither  frame  or  mind.  "  Catherine !  thou  hast  seen  her 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  157 

in  her  beauty,  the  cherished,  the  beloved  of  all  who  knew 
her — seen  her  when  no  loveliness  could  mate  with  hers.  Thou 
seest  now  the  wreck  that  misery  has  made,  though  she  has 
numbered  but  few  more  years  than  thou  hast !  Detest, 
abhor,  avoid  her  faith — for  that  we  command  thee  ;  but  her 
sex,  her  sorrow,  have  a  claim  to  sympathy  and  aid,  which 
not  even  her  race  can  remove.  Jewess  though  she  be,  if  thou 
can  look  on  her  thus,  and  still  speak  of  pollution  and  danger, 
thou  art  not  what  we  deemed  thee  !" 

Struck  to  the  heart,  alike  by  the  marked  display  of  a 
mistress  she  idolized  and  the  sympathy  her  better  nature 
really  felt  for  Marie,  Catherine  sunk  on  her  knees  by  the 
couch,  and  burst  into  tears.  Isabella  watched  her  till  her 
unusual  indignation  subsided,  and  then  said  more  kindly, 
"  It  is  enough ;  go,  Catherine.  If  we  judge  thee  rightly 
thou  wilt  not  easily  forget  this  lesson  !  Again  I  bid  thee  ab 
hor  her  faith  ;  but  seek  to  win  her  to  the  right  path,  by  gen 
tleness  and  love,  not  prejudice  and  hate." 

"  Oh  !  let  me  tarry  here  and  tend  her,  my  gracious 
Sovereign,"  implored  Catherine,  again  clasping  Isabella's 
robe  and  looking  beseechingly  in  her  face — but  from  a  very 
different  feeling  to  the  prompter  of  the  same  action  a  few 
minutes  before — "  Oh,  madam,  do  not  send  me  from  her  !  I 
will  be  so  gentle,  so  active — watch,  tend,  serve ;  only  say 
your  Grace's  bidding,  and  I  will  do  it,  if  I  stood  by  her 
alone !" 

"  My  bidding  would  be  but  the  prompting?  of  thine  own 
heart,  my  girl,"  replied  the  Queen,  fondly,  for  she  saw  the 
desired  impression  had  been  made.  "  If  I  need  thee — which 
I  may  do — I  will  call  upon  thee ;  but  now,  thou  canst  do 
nothing,  but  think  kindly,  and  judge  mercifully — important 
work  indeed,  if  thou  wouldst  serve  an  erring  and  unhappy 
fellow-creature,  with  heart  as  well  as  hand.  But  now  go : 
nay,  not  so  sorrowfully ;  thy  momentary  fault  is  forgiven," 
she  added,  kindly,  as  she  extended  her  hand  towards  the 
evidently  pained  and  penitent  maiden,  who  raised  it  grateful 
ly  and  reverentially  to  her  lips,  and  thoughtfully  withdrew. 

It  was  not,  however,  with  her  attendants  only,  this  gener 
ous  and  high-minded  princess  had  to  contend — with  them 
her  example  was  enough ;  but  the  task  was  much  more  diffi 
cult,  when  the  following  day,  as  King  Ferdinand  had  antici- 


158  THE    VALE   OF   CEDARS; 

pated,  brought  the  stern  Sub-Prior  of  St.  Francis  to  demand, 
in  the  church's  name,  the  immediate  surrender  of  Marie. 
But  Isabella's  decision  once  formed  never  wavered.  Marie 
was  under  her  protection,  she  said — an  erring  indeed,  but 
an  unhappy  young  creature,  who,  by  her  very  confession,  had 
thrown  herself  on  the  mercy  of  her  Sovereign — and  she 
would  not  deliver  up  the  charge.  In  vain  the  Prior  urged 
the  abomination  of  a  Jewess  residing  under  her  very  roof — 
the  danger  to  her  soul  should  she  be  tempted  to  associate 
with  her,  and  that  granting  protection  to  an  avowed  and 
blaspheming  unbeliever  must  expose  her  to  the  suspicions, 
or,  at  least  the  censure  of  the  church.  Isabella  was  inexor 
able.  To  his  first  and  second  clause  she  quietly  answered  as 
she  had  done  to  her  own  attendants ;  his  third  only  produced 
a  calm  and  fearless  smile.  She  knew  too  well,  as  did  the 
Prior  also,  though  for  the  time  he  chose  to  forget  it,  that  her 
character  for  munificent  and  heartfelt  piety  was  too  well  es 
tablished,  not  only  in  Spain  but  throughout  Europe,  to  be 
shaken  even  by  the  protection  of  a  Jewess.  Father  Francis 
then  solicited  to  see  her ;  but  even  this  point  he  could  not 
gain.  Isabella  had,  alas !  no  need  to  equivocate  as  to  the 
reason  of  his  non-admission  to  Marie.  Reason  had  indeed 
returned,  and  with  it  the  full  sense  of  the  dangers  she  had 
drawn  upon  herself;  but  neither  frame  nor  mind  was  in  a 
state  to  encounter  such  an  interview  as  the  Prior  demanded! 
The  severity  of  Father  Francis  originated,  as  we  have  be 
fore  remarked,  neither  in  weak  intellect  nor  selfish  supersti 
tion.  Towards  himself  indeed  he  never  relented  either  in 
severity  or  discipline  ;  towards  others  benevolence  and  hu 
manity  very  often  gained  ascendency ;  and  something  very 
like  a  tear  glistened  in  his  eye  as  Isabella  forcibly  portrayed 
the  state  in  which  Marie  still  remained.  And  when  she  con 
cluded,  by  frankly  imparting  her  intention,  if  health  were 
indeed  restored,  to  leave  no  means  untried — even  to  pursue 
some  degree  of  severity  if  nothing  else  would  do — to  wean 
her  from  her  mistaken  faith,  he  not  only  abandoned  his 
previous  intentions,  but  commended  and  blessed  the  nobler 
purpose  of  his  Sovereign.  To  his  request  that  Marie  might 
be  restrained  from  all  intercourse  with  the  younger  members 
of  Isabella's  female  court — in  fact,  associate  with  none  but 
strict  and  uncompromising  Catholics — the  Queen  readily  ac- 


Oil,    1HE    MARTYR.  159 

4 

ceded ;  and  moreover,  granted  him  full  permission  to  exam 
ine  the  mansion  of  Don  Ferdinand  Morales,  that  any  books 
or  articles  of  dangerous  or  heretical  import  might  be  dis 
covered  and  destroyed. 

With  these  concessions  Father  Francis  left  his  Sovereign, 
affected  at  her  goodness  and  astonished  at  her  influence  on 
himself.  He  had  entered  her  presence  believing  nothing 
could  change  the  severity  of  his  intentions  or  the  harsnness 
of  his  feelings  ;  he  left  her  with  the  one  entirely  renounced, 
and  the  other  utterly  subdued. 

Such  was  the  triumph  of  prejudice  achieved  by  the  lofty- 
minded  and  generous  woman,  who  swayed  the  sceptre  of 
Castile.*  And  yet,  though  every  history  of  the  time  unites 
in  so  portraying  her ;  though  her  individual  character  was 
the  noblest,  the  most  magnanimous,  the  most  complete  union 
of  masculine  intellect  with  perfect  womanhood,  ever  traced 
on  the  pages  of  the  past ;  though  under  her  public  adminis 
tration  her  kingdom  stood  forth  the  noblest,  the  most  refined, 
most  generous,  ay,  and  the  freest,  alike  in  national  position, 
as  in  individual  sentiment,  amongst  all  the  nations  of  Europe, 
Isabella's  was  the  fated  hand  to  sign  two  edicts.f  whose  con 
sequences  extinguished  the  lustre,  diminished  the  virtues, 
enslaved  the  sentiments,  checked  the  commerce,  and  in  a 
word  deteriorated  the  whole  character  of  Spain. 

For  fourteen  days  affairs  remained  the  same.  At  the 
end  of  that  period  the  castle  and  city  of  Segovia  were  thrown 

*  We  are  authorized  to  give  this  character  to  Isabella  of  Castile, 
and  annex  the  lustre  of  such  action  to  her  memory ;  as  we  knoAV  that 
even  when,  by  the  persuasions  and  representations  of  Torquemada, 
the  Inquisition  was  publicly  established,  Isabella  constantly  interfered 
her  authority  to  prevent  zeal  from  becoming  inhumanity.  Rendered 
unusually  penetrating  by  her  peculiarly  feeling  and  gentle  nature,  she 
discovered,  what  was  concealed  from  others,  "That  many  enormities 
may  be  committed  under  the  veil  of  religion— many  innocent  persons 
falsely  accused ;  their  riches  being  their  only  crime.  Her  exertions 
brought  such  things  to  light,  and  the  suborners  were  punished  accord 
ing  to  their  guilt." — WASHINGTON  IRVING'S  Siege  of  Granada. 

Of  Ferdinand  too  we  are  told,  "Rcspeto  la  jurisdiction  ecdesiastica,  y 
conservo  la  real :"  he  respected  the  ecclesiastical  jurisdiction,  but 
guarded  or  was  jealous,  for  that  of  the  crown.  His  determination, 
therefore,  to  refuse  the  church's  interference  in  the  case  of  Marie, 
though  unusual  to  his  age,  is  warranted  by  his  larger  niind  and  freer 
policy. 

f  The  establishmejit  of  the  Inquisition,  and  expulsion  of  the  Jews 


160  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

» 

anew  into  a  state  of  the  wildest  excitement  by  a  most  myste 
rious  occurrence — Marie  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

"  Meekly  had  he  bowed  and  prayed, 
As  not  disdaining  priestly  aid ; 
And  while  before  the  Prior  kneeling, 
His  heart  was  weaned  from  earthly  feeling : 
No  more  reproach,  no  more  despair — 
No  thought  but  heaven,  no  word  but  prayer." 

BYRON. 

TIME  passed  slowly  on,  and  no  proof  appeared  to  clear  Arthui 
Stanley's  fame.  All  that  man's  judgment  could  counsel,  was 
adopted — secret  measures  were  taken  throughout  Spain,  for 
the  apprehension  of  any  individual  suspected  of  murder,  or 
even  of  criminal  deeds ;  constant  prayers  offered  up,  that  if 
Arthur  Stanley  were  not  the  real  murderer,  proofs  of  his  in 
nocence  might  be  made  so  evident  that  not  even  his  greatest 
enemy  could  doubt  any  longer ;  but  all  seemed  of  no  avail. 
"Week  after  week  passed,  and  with  the  exception  of  one  most 
mysterious  occurrence,  affairs  remained  the  same.  So  strong 
was  the  belief  of  the  nobles  in  his  innocence,  that  the  most 
strenuous  exertions  were  made  in  his  favor ;  but,  strong  as 
Ferdinand's  own  wish  was  to  save  him,  his  love  of  justice  was 
still  stronger ;  though  the  testimony  of  Don  Luis  might  be 
set  aside,  calm  deliberation  on  all  the  evidence  against  him 
marked  it  as  sufficiently  strong  to  have  sentenced  any  other 
so  accused  at  once.  The  resolute  determination  to  purge 
their  kingdom  from  the  black  crimes  of  former  years,  which 
both  sovereigns  felt  and  unitedly  acted  upon,  urged  them  to 
conquer  every  private  wish  and  feeling,  rather  than  depart 
from  the  line  laid  down.  The  usual  dispensers  of  justice, 
the  Santa  Hermandad — men  chosen  by  their  brother  citizens 
for  their  lucid  judgment,  clearness  of  perception,  and  utter 
absence  of  all  overplus  of  chivalrous  feeling,  in  matters  of 
cool  dispassionate  reasoning — were  unanimous  in  theic  belief 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  A 61 

in  the  prisoner's  guilt,  and  only  acquiesced  in  the  month's 
reprieve,  because  it  was  Isabella's  wish.  Against  their 
verdict  what  could  be  brought  forward  ?  In  reality  nothing 
but  the  prisoner's  own  strongly-attested  innocence — an 
attestation  most  forcible  in  the  minds  of  the  Sovereign  and 
the  nobles,  but  of  no  weight  whatever  to  men  accustomed  to 
weigh,  and  examine,  and  cross-examine,  and  decide  on  proof, 
or  at  least  from  analogy,  and  never  from  an  attestation, 
which  the  greatest  criminals  might  as  forcibly  make.  The 
power  and  election  of  these  men  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  had 
confirmed.  How  could  they,  then,  interfere  in  the  present 
case,  and  shackle  the  judgment  which  they  had  endowed 
vvith  authority,  dispute  and  deny  the  sentence  they  had 
previously  given  permission  to  pronounce?  Pardon  they 
might,  and  restore  to  life  and  liberty ;  but  the  very  act  of 
pronouncing  pardon  supposed  belief  in  and  proclamation  of 
guilt.  There  was  but  one  thing  which  could  save  him  and 
satisfy  justice,  and  that  was  the  sentence  of  "not  guilty." 
For  this  reason  Ferdinand  refused  every  petition  for  Stan 
ley's  reprieve,  hoping  indeed,  spite  of  all  reason,  that  even  at 
the  eleventh  hour  evidence  of  his  innocence  would  and  must 
appear. 

.  Stanley  himself  had  no  such  hope.  All  his  better  and 
higher  nature  had  been  called  forth  by  the  awful  and  myste 
rious  death  of  Morales,  dealt  too  by  his  own  sword — that 
sword  which,  in  his  wild  passions,  he  had  actually  prayed 
might  shed  his  blood.  The  film  of  passion  had  dropped 
alike  from  mental  and  bodily  vision.  He  beheld  his  irritated 
feelings  in  their  true  light,  and  knew  himself  in  thought  a 
murderer.  He  would  have  sacrificed  life  itself,  could  he  but 
have  recalled  the  words  of  insult  offered  to  one  so  noble;  not 
for  the  danger  to  himself  from  their  threatening  nature,  but 
for  the  injurious  injustice  done  to  the  man  from  whom  he 
had  received  a  hundred  acts  of  little  unobtrusive  kindnesses, 
and  whom  he  had  once  revered  as  the  model  of  every  thing 
virtuous  and  noble — services  which  Morales  had  rendered 
him,  felt  gratefully  perhaps  at  the  time,  but  forgotten  in  the 
absorption  of  thought  or  press  of  occupation  during  his 
sojourn  in  Sicily,  now  rushed  back  upon  him,  marking  him 
ingrate  as  well  as  dishonored.  All  that  had  happened  he  re 
garded  as  Divine  judgment  on  an  unspoken,  unacted,  but  not 


162  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARSJ 

the  less  encouraged  sin.  The  fact  that  his  sword  had  done 
the  deed,  convinced  him  that  his  destruction  had  been  con 
nived  at,  as  well  as  that  of  Morales.  A  suspicion  as  to  the 
designer,  if  not  the  actual  doer  of  the  need,  had  indeed  taken 
possession  of  him  ;  but  it  was  an  idea  so  wild,  so  unfounded, 
that  he  dared  not  give  it  words. 

From  the  idea  of  death,  and  such  a  death,  his  whole  soul 
indeed  revolted  ;  but  to  avert  it  seemed  so  utterly  impossible, 
that  he  bent  his  proud  spirit  unceasingly  to  its  anticipation ; 
and  with  the  spiritual  aid  of  the  good  and  feeling  Father 
Francis,  in  some  degree  succeeded.  It  was  not  the  horror  of 
his  personal  fate  alone  which  bade  him  so  shrink  from  death. 
Marie  was  free  once  more ;  nay,  had  from  the  moment  of  her 
dread  avowal — made,  he  intuitively  felt,  to  save  him — become, 
if  possible,  dearer,  more  passionately  loved  than  before.  And, 
oh !  how  terrible  is  the  anticipation  of  early  death  to  those 
that  love ! — the  only  trial  which  bids  even  the  most  truly 
spiritual,  yet  while  on  earth  still  human  heart,  forget  that  if 
earth  is  loved  and  lovely,  heaven  must  be  lovelier  still. 

From  Don  Felix  d'Estaban,  his  friendly  warder,  he  heard 
of  Isabella's  humane  intentions  toward  her ;  that  her  senses 
had  been  restored,  and  she  was,  to  all  appearance,  the  same 
in  health  as  she  had  been  since  her  husband's  death ;  only 
evidently  suffering  more,  which  might  be  easily  accounted 
for  from  the  changed  position  in  which  the  knowledge  of  her 
unbelief  had  placed  her  with  all  the  members  of  Isabella's 
court ;  that  the  only  agitation  she  had  evinced  was,  when 
threatened  with  a  visit  from  Father  Francis — who,  finding 
nothing  in  the  mansion  of  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  to  con 
firm  the  truth  of  her  confession,  had  declared  his  conviction 
that  there  must  be  some  secret  chamber  destined  for  her 
especial  use.  As  if  shrinking  from  the  interview  he  demand 
ed,  Marie  had  said  to  the  Senora,  to  whose  care  she  had  been 
intrusted — "  He  need  not  seek  me  to  obtain  this  information. 
For  my  husband's  sake  alone  I  concealed  the  faith  in  which 
I  glory.  Let  Father  Francis  remove  a  sliding  panel  beneath 
the  tapestry  behind  the  couch  in  my  sleeping  apartment, 
and  he  will  find  not  only  all  he  seeks,  but  the  surest  proof 
of  my  husband's  care  and  tenderness  for  me,  unbeliever 
though  he  might  deem  me." 

The  discovery  of  this  secret  closet,  Don  Felix  continued, 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  163 

had  caused  much  marvel  throughout  the  court.  Where 
Morales  had  found  her,  or  how  he  could  have  reconciled  his 
conscience  not  only  to  make  her  his  wife,  but  permit  her  the 
free  exercise  of  a  religion  accursed  in  the  sight  both  of  God 
and  man,  under  his  own  roof,  were  questions  impossible  to 
solve,  or  reconcile  with  the  character  of  orthodox  Catholicism 
he  had  so  long  borne.  The  examination  had  been  conducted 
with  the  church's  usual  secrecy  ;  the  volumes  of  heresy  and 
unbelief  (it  did  not  signify  that  the  word  of  God  was  amongst 
them)  burnt ;  the  silver  lamps  and  other  ornaments  melted 
down,  to  enrich,  by  an  image  of  the  virgin,  the  church  of  St. 
Francis;  the  recess  itself  purified  with  incense  and  sprinkled 
with  holy  water ;  the  sign  of  the  cross  deeply  burnt  in  the 
walls;  and  the  panel  which  formed  the  secret  entrance  firmly 
fastened  up,  that  its  very  existence  should  be  forgotten.  The 
matter,  however,  Don  Felix  added,  was  not  publicly  spoken 
of,  as  both  the  King  and  Queen,  in  conjunction  with  the  Sub- 
Prior,  seemed  to  wish  all  that  had  passed,  in  which  Donna 
Marie  was  concerned,  should  be  gradually  forgotten.  Don 
Ferdinand's  vast  possessions  had,  in  consequence  of  his 
widow's  being  an  unbeliever,  and  so  having  no  power  to 
inherit,  reverted  to  the  crown ;  but  in  case  of  Marie's  con 
version,  of  which  Don  Felix  appeared  to  entertain  little 
doubt,  the  greater  part  would  be  restored  to  her.  Till  then, 
Marie  was  kept  in  strict  confinement  in  the  palace ;  but  all 
harsher  measures  Isabella  had  resolved  to  avoid. 

This  intelligence  relieved  Stanley's  mind  of  one  painful 
dread,  while  it  unconsciously  increased  his  wish  to  live. 
Marie  free !  a  Catholic !  what  could  come  between  them 
then  1  Must  she  not  love  him,  else  why  seek  to  save  him  ? 
And  then  again  the  mystery  darkened  round  her.  A  wild 
suspicion  as  to  the  real  reason  of  her  having  wedded  Ferdi 
nand,  had  flitted  across  his  mind ;  but  the  words  of  Estaban  so 
minutely  repeated,  seemed  to  banish  it  entirely;  they  alluded 
but  to  her  husband's  forbearing  tenderness,  felt  the  more  in 
tensely  from  its  being  extended  by  a  zealous  Catholic  to  one 
of  a  race  usually  so  contemned  and  hated.  In  vain  he  tried 
to  reconcile  the  seeming  inconsistency  of  her  conduct ;  his 
thoughts  only  became  the  more  confused  and  painful,  till 
even  the  remembrance  of  her  self-devotion  lost  its  power  to 
soothe  or  to  allay  them. 


164 

When  Don  Felix  again  visited  his  prisoner,  his  counten 
ance  was  so  expressive  of  consternation,  that  Stanley  had 
scarcely  power  to  ask  what  had  occurred.  Marie  had  dis 
appeared  from  the  castle  so  strangely  and  mysteriously,  that 
not  a  trace  or  clue  could  be  discovered  of  her  path.  Con 
sternation  reigned  within  the  palace ;  the  King  was  full  of 
wrath  at  the  insult  offered  to  his  power ;  the  Queen  even 
more  grieved  than  an.^r-y.  The  guards  stationed  without 
the  chamber  had  declared  on  oath  that  no  one  had  passed 
them ;  the  Senoras  Leon  and  Pas,  who  slept  in  the  room 
adjoining,  could  tell  nothing  wherewith  to  explain  the  mysto- 
ry.  In  th  >  first  paroxsym  of  alarm  they  had  declared  the 
night  had  passed  as  usual ;  but  on  cooler  reflection  they  re 
membered  starting  from  their  sleep  with  the  impression  of  a 
smothered  cry,  which  having  mingled  with  their  dreams,  and 
not  being  repeated,  they  had  believed  mere  fancy.  And  this 
faint  sound  was  the  only  sign,  the  only  trace  that  her  de 
parture  was  not  a  voluntary  act. 

"Father  Francis  !  the  arm  of  the  church  !"  gasped  Stan 
ley,  as  Don  Felix  paused  in  his  recital,  astonished  at  the 
effect  of  his  words  on  the  prisoner,  whose  very  respiration 
seemed  impeded. 

"  Father  Francis  has  solemnly  sworn,"  he  replied,  "  that 
neither  he  nor  any  of  his  brethren  had  connived  at  an  act  of 
such  especial  disrespect  to  the  sovereign  power,  and  of  in 
justice  towards  the  Queen.  Torquemada  is  still  absent,  or 
suspicion  night  rest  on  him — he  is  stern  enough  even  for 
such  a  deed ;  but  how  could  even  he  have  withdrawn  her 
from  the  castle  without  discovery  ?" 

"  Can  she  not  have  departed  voluntarily  ?"  inquired  Stan 
ley,  with  sudden  hope.  "  The  cry  you  mention  may  indeed 
have  been  but  fancy.  Is  it  not  likely  that  fear  as  to  her  fate 
may  have  prompted  her  to  seek  safety  in  flight?" 

"  Her  Grace  thinks  not,  else  some  clue  as  to  her  path  must, 
ere  this,  have  been  discovered.  Besides,  escape  was  literally 
impossible  without  the  aid  of  magic,  which  however  her  ac 
cursed  race  know  well  how  to  use.  The  guards  must  have 
seen  her,  had  she  passed  her  own  threshold  in  any  human 
form.  The  casement  was  untouched,  remaining  exactly  as 
the  Senora  Leon  secured  it  with  her  own  hand  the  preceding 
evening ;  and,  even  had  she  thence  descended  to  the  ground, 


165 

she  could  have  gone  no  further  from  the  high  and  guarded 
walls.  It  may  be  magic  :  if  so,  and  the  devil  hides  himself 
in  so  fair  a  form,  the  saints  preserve  us !  for  we  know  not  in 
whom  next  he  will  be  hid."  So  spoke,  gravely,  seriously, 
undoubtingly,  a  wise  and  thoughtful  Spanish  noble,  of  the 
fifteenth  century ;  and  so  then  thought  the  whole  European 
wcrld.  Stanley  scarcely  heard  the  last  words ;  for  in  his 
mind,  however  sorcery  might  be  synonymous  with  Judaism, 
it  certainly  was  not  with  Marie;  and  he  could  only  realize 
the  fact  of  the  utter  impossibility  of  a  voluntary  flight. 

"  Had  the  Queen  seen  her  since  her  trial  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  She  had  not :  a  fact  which  deepens  her  distress  ;  for 
she  fancies  had  Marie  been  nearer  her  person,  and  aware  of 
the  full  extent  of  her  merciful  intentions,  this  might  have 
been  averted.  She  believes  that  the  smothered  cry  alluded 
to  was  really  Donna  Marie's  ;  but,  if  so,  what  the  dark  power 
is,  which  has  so  trampled  on  the  royal  prerogative,  is  plunged 
in  as  impenetrable  mystery  as  every  thing  else,  in  which 
Donna  Marie  has  been  concerned." 

"  Even  the  same  dark  power  which  seeks  my  destruction, 
and  laid  Morales  low,"  replied  Stanley,  more  as  if  thinking 
aloud  than  addressing  his  companion  ;  "  and  when  the  clue 
to  one  mystery  is  found,  the  rest  will  follow.  Some  fiend 
from  hell  is  at  work  around  us.  Morales  is  gone.  Marie  has 
followed,  and  I  shall  be  the  next ;  and  then,  perhaps,  the 
demon's  reign  will  end,  and  the  saints  of  heaven  triumph." 

"Would  to  heaven  a  Jewess  had  never  come  amongst 
us,"  was  the  rejoinder ;  "  there  is  always  evil  in  their  train." 
And  the  blood  rushed  to  Arthur's  cheek,  his  hand  involun 
tarily  clenched,  and  his  eye  glanced  defiance  towards  Don 
Felix,  as  if,  even  at  such  a  moment,  insult  even  in  thought 
towards  Marie  should  not  pass  unquestioned ;  but  he  re 
strained  himself,  and  the  emotion  was  unnoticed. 

From  that  day  so  engrossed  were  the  thoughts  of  the 
prisoner  with  vain  speculations  as  to  the  fate  of  Marie,  that 
the  fact  of  his  own  position  remaining  the  same,  and  his 
hours  of  life  waning  fast,  seemed  actually  unheeded.  From 
Don  Felix,  in  various  visits,  he  heard  that  Marie  was  no 
longer  publicly  spoken  of;  the  excitement  occasioned  alike 
by  her  avowal  and  disappearance  was  fast  fading  from  the 
imagination  of  the  populace.  The  public  jousts  and  festivals. 


166 

intended  to  celebrate  the  visit  of  the  sovereigns,  but  which 
Morales's  death  and  the  events  ensuing  had  so  painfully  sus 
pended,  were  recommencing,  arid  men  nocked  to  them,  as 
glad  to  escape  from  the  mourning  and  mystery  which  had 
held  sway  so  long. 

And  now  only  three  days  intervened  ere  the  expiration 
of  the  given  month  ;  and  each  day  did  the  Sub-Prior  of  St. 
Francis  pass  with  the  prisoner,  exhorting,  comforting,  and 
strengthening  him  for  the  dread  passage  through  which  it 
was  now  too  evident  his  soul  must  pass  to  eternity.  It  was 
with  difficulty  and  pain,  that  Stanley  could  even  then  so 
cease  to  think  of  Marie,  as  to  prepare  himself  with  fitting 
sobriety  and  humility  for  the  fate  impending  ;  but  the  warm 
sympathy  of  Father  Francis,  whose  fine  feelings  had  never 
been  blunted  by  a  life  of  rigid  seclusion,  won  him  to  listen 
and  to  join  in  his  prayers,  and,  gradually  weaning  his 
thoughts  from  their  earthly  resting,  raised  them  to  that 
heaven  which,  if  he  truly  repented  of  sin,  the  good  father 
assured  him.  was  fast  opening  for  him.  Under  the  inviolable 
seal  of  confession,  Arthur  acknowledged  his  deep  and  long- 
cherished  love  for  Marie,  his  dislike  to  her  husband,  which 
naturally  followed  the  discovery  of  her  marriage,  and  the 
evil  passions  thence  arising ;  but  he  never  wavered  in  the 
reiteration  of  his  innocence  ;  adding,  that  he  reproached  no 
man  with  his  death.  The  sentence  was  just  according  to  the 
appearances  against  him.  Had  he  himself  been  amongst  his 
judges,  his  own  sentence  would  have  been  the  same.  Yet 
still  he  was  innocent ;  and  Father  Francis  so  believed  him 
that,  after  pronouncing  absolution  and  blessing,  he  hastened 
from  the  prisoner  to  the  King  to  implore  a  yet  longer  re 
prieve.  But  Ferdinand,  though  more  moved  by  the  Prior's 
recital  than  he  chose  to  display,  remained  firm ;  he  had 
pledged  his  kingly  word  to  the  chief  of  the  Santa  Herman- 
dad  that  the  award  of  justice  should  not  be  waived  without 
proof  of  innocence,  and  he  could  not  draw  back  One 
chance  only  he  granted,  urged  to  do  so  by  an  irresistible  im 
pulse,  which  how  often  comes  we  know  not  wherefore,  til] 
the  event  marks  it  as  the  whisper  of  some  guardian  angel, 
who  has  looked  into  the  futurity  concealed  from  us.  The 
hour  of  the  execution  had  been  originally  fixed  for  the  sixth 
hour  of  the  morning ;  it  was  postponed  till  noon. 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  167 

The  morning  dawned,  and  with  its  first  beams  came 
Father  Francis  to  the  prisoner.  He  found  him  calm  and  re 
signed  :  his  last  thought  of  earth  was  to  commend  Marie,  if 
ever  found,  to  the  holy  father's  care,  conjuring  him  to  deal 
gently  and  mercifully  with  a  spirit  so  broken,  and  lead  her 
to  the  sole  fountain  of  peace  by  kindness,  not  by  wrath  ;  and 
to  tell  her  how  faithfully  he  had  loved  her  to  the  last.  Much 
affected,  Father  Francis  promised — aye,  even  to  provect,  if 
possible,  an  unbeliever.  And  Stanley  once  nKre  knelt  in 
prayer,  every  earthly  thought  at  rest.  The  last  quarter-bell 
had  chimed ;  and  ere  it  ceased,  the  step  of  Don  Felix  was 
heard  in  the  passage,  followed  by  the  heavy  tramp  of  the 
guard.  The  Prior  looked  eagerly  in  the  noble's  countenance 
as  he  entered,  hoping  even  then  to  read  reprieve  ;  but  the 
stern  yet  sad  solemnity  on  Don  Felix's  face  betrayed  the 
hope  was  vain.  The  hour  had  indeed  come,  and  Arthur 
Stanley  was  led  forth  to  death  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"Oh!  blissful  days, 

When  all  men  worship  God  as  conscience  wills ! 
Far  other  times  our  fathers'  grandsires  knew. 
What  tho'  the  skeptic's  scorn  hath  dared  to  soil 
The  record  of  their  fame  !     What  tho'  the  men 
Of  worldly  minds  have  dared  to  stigmatize 
The  sister-cause  Religion  and  the  Law 
With  Superstition's  name !    Yet,  yet  their  deeds, 
Their  constancy  in  torture  and  in  death — 
These  on  Tradition's  tongue  shall  live  ;   these  shall 
On  History's  honest  page  be  pictur'd  bright 
To  latest  time." 

GRAHAME. 

RETROSPECTION  is  not  pleasant  in  a  narrative  ;  but,  if  Marie 
has  indeed  excited  any  interest  in  our  readers,  they  will  for 
give  the  necessity,  and  look  back  a  few  weeks  ere  they  again 
arrive  at  the  eventful  day  with  which  our  last  chapter  closed. 
All  that  Don  Felix  had  reported  concerning  the  widow  of 


168 

Morales  was  correct.  The  first  stunning  effects  of  her  dread 
avowal  were  recovered,  sense  was  entirely  restored,  but  the 
short-lived  energy  had  gone.  The  trial  to  passively  endure 
is  far  more  terrible  than  that  which  is  called  upon  to  act  and 
do.  She  soon  discovered  that,  though  nursed  and  treated 
with  kindness,  she  was  a  prisoner  in  her  own  apartments. 
Wish  to  leave  them  she  had  none,  and  scarcely  the  physical 
strength  ;  but  to  sit  idly  down  under  the  pressure  of  a  double 
dread — the  prisoner's  fate  and  her  own  sentence — to  have  no 
call  for  energy,  not  a  being  for  whom  to  rouse  herself  and 
live,  not  one  for  whose  sake  she  might  forget  herself  and  win 
future  happiness  by  present  exertion  ;  the  Past,  one  yearning 
memory  for  the  husband,  who  had  so  soothed  and  cherished 
her,  when  any  other  would  have  cast  her  from  his  heart  as  a 
worthless  thing;  the  Present,  fraught  with  thoughts  she 
dared  not  think,  and  words  she  might  not  breathe ;  the  very 
prayer  for  Stanley's  safety  checked — for  what  could  he  be  to 
her  ? — the  Future  shrouded  in  a  pall  so  dense,  she  could  not 
read  a  line  of  its  dark  page,  for  the  torch  of  Hope  was  extin 
guished,  and  it  is  only  by  her  light  we  can  look  forward ;  Is 
abella's  affection  apparently  lost  for  ever ;  was  it  marvel 
energy  and  hope  had  so  departed,  or  that  a  deadening  des 
pondency  seemed  to  crush  her  heart  and  sap  the  very  springs 
of  life? 

But  in  the  midst  of  that  dense  gloom  one  ray  there  was, 
feeble  indeed  at  first  as  if  human  suffering  had  deadened 
even  that,  but  brightening  and  strengthening  with  every 
passing  day.  It  was  the  sincerity  of  her  faith — the  dearer, 
more  precious  to  its  followers,  from  the  scorn  and  condemna 
tion,  in  which  it  was  held  by  man. 

The  fact  that  the  most  Catholic  kingdom  of  Spain,  was 
literally  peopled  with  secret  Jews,  brands  this  unhappy 
people,  with  a  degree  of  hypocrisy,  in  addition  to  the  various 
other  evil  propensities  with  which  they  have  been  so  plenti 
fully  charged.  Nay,  even  amongst  themselves  in  modern 
times,  this  charge  has  gained  ascendency ;  and  the  romance- 
writer  who  would  make  use  of  this  extraordinary  truth,  to 
vividly  picture  the  condition  of  the  Spanish  Jews,  is  accused 
of  vilifying  the  nation,  by  reporting  practices,  opposed  to  the 
upright  dictates  of  the  religion  of  the  Lord.  It  is  well  to 
pronounce  such  judgment  now.  that  the  liberal  position  which 


'   .  OR,    THF    MARTYR.  169 

we  occupy  in  most  lands,  would  render  it  the  height  of  dis 
simulation,  and  hypocrisy,  to  conceal  our  faith ;  but  to  judge 
correctly  of  the  secret  adherence  to  Judaism  and  public  pro 
fession  of  Catholicism  which  characterized  our  ancestors  in 
Spain,  we  must  transport  ourselves  not  only  to  the  country 
but  to  the  time,  and  recall  the  awfully  degraded,  crushing, 
and  stagnating  position  which  acknowledged  Judaism  occu 
pied  over  the  whole  known  world.  As  early  as  GOO — as  soon, 
in  fact,  as  the  disputes  and  prosecutions  of  Arian  against 
Catholic,  and  Catholic  against  Arian,  had  been  checked  by 
the  whole  of  Spain  being  subdued  and  governed  by  Catholic 
kings — intolerance  began  to  work  against  the  Jews,  who  had 
been  settled  in  vast  numbers  in  Spain  since  the  reign  of  the 
Emperor  Adrian ;  some  authorities  assert  still  earlier.*  They 
were,  therefore,  nearly  the  original  colonists  of  the  country, 
and  regarded  it  with  almost  as  much  attachment  as  they 
had  felt  towards  Judea.  When  persecution  began  to  work, 
"  90,000  Jews  were  compelled  to  receive  the  sacrament  of 
baptism,"  the  bodies  of  the  more  obstinate  tortured,  and  their 
fortunes  confiscated ;  and  yet — a  remarkable  instance  of  in 
consistency — they  were  not  permitted  to  leave  Spain ;  and 
this  species  of  persecution  continued  from  GOO  downwards. 
Once  or  twice  edicts  of  expulsion  were  issued,  but  speedily 
recalled;  the  tyrants  being  unwilling  to  dismiss  victims  whom 
they  delighted  to  torture,  or  deprive  themselves  of  industri 
ous  slaves  over  whom  they  might  exercise  a  lucrative  oppres 
sion  ;"  and  a  statute  was  enacted,  "that  the  Jews  who  had  been 
baptized  should  be  constrained,  for  the  honor  of  the  church, 
to  persevere  in  the  external  practice  of  a  religion  which  they 
inwardly  disbelieved  and  detested."! 

How,  then,  can  compelled  obedience  to  this  statute  bo 
termed  hypocrisy  ?  Persecution,  privation,  tyranny,  may 
torture  and  destroy  the  body,  but  they  cannot  force  the  mind 
to  the  adoption  of,  and  belief  in  tenets,  from  which  the  very 
treatment  they  commanded  must  urge  it  to  revolt.  Of  the 

*  Basnage  asserts  that  the  Jews  were  introduced  into  Spain  by  the 
fleet  of  Solomon,  and  the  arms  of  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  that  Hadrian 
transported  forty  thousand  families  of  the  tribe  of  Judah,  and  ten 
thousand  of  the  tribe  of  Benjamin,  etc. 

t  "Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall,"  vol.  6,  chap,  xxxvii,  from  which 
aU  the  previous  sentences  in  inverted  commas  have  been  extracted. 
8 


170 

90,000  Jews  forcibly  baptized  by  order  of  Sisebut,  and  con 
strained  to  the  external  profession  of  Catholicism,  not  ten,  in 
all  probability,  became  actually  Christians.  And  yet  how 
would  it  have  availed  them  to  relapse  into  the  public  profes 
sion  of  the  faith  they  so  obeyed  and  loved  in  secret?  To 
leave  the  country  was  utterly  impossible.  It  is  easy  to  talk 
now  of  such  proceedings  being  their  right  course  of  acting, 
when  every  land  is  open  to  the  departure  and  entrance  ot 
every  creed ;  but  it  was  widely  different  .then,  and,  even  if 
they  could  have  quitted  Spain,  there  was  not  a  spot  of  ground, 
in  the  whole  European  and  Asiatic  world,  where  persecution, 
extortion,  and  banishment  would  not  equally  have  been  their 
doom.  Constant  relapses  into  external  as  well  as  internal 
Judaism  there  were,  but  they  were  but  the  signal  for  increas 
ed  misery  to  the  whole  nation ;  and  by  degrees  they  ceased. 
It  was  from  the  forcible  baptism  of  the  90.000  Hebrews,  by 
Sisebut,  that  we  may  trace  the  origin  of  the  secret  Jews. 
From  father  to  son,  from  mother  to  daughter,  the  solemn 
secret  descended,  and  gradually  spread,  still  in  its  inviolable 
nature,  through  every  rank  and  every  profession,  from  the 
highest  priest  to  the  lowest  friar,  the  general  to  the  common 
soldier,  the  noble  to  the  peasant,  over  the  whole  land.  There 
were  indeed  some  few  in  Spain,  before  the  final  edict  of  ex 
pulsion  in  1492,  who  were  Hebrews  in  external  profession  as 
well  as  internal  observance ;  but  their  condition  was  so  de 
graded,  so  scorned,  so  exposed  to  constant  suffering,  that  it 
was  not  in  human  nature  voluntarily  to  sink  down  to  them, 
when,  by  the  mere  continuance  of  external  Catholicism — which 
from  its  universality,  its  long  existence,  and  being  in  fact  a 
rigidly  enforced  statute  of  the  state,  could  not  be  regarded 
either  as  hypocrisy  or  sin — they  could  take  their  station 
amongst  the  very  highest  and  noblest  of  the  land,  and  rise 
to  eminence  and  power  in  any  profession,  civil,  military, 
or  religious,  which  they  might  prefer.  The  subject  is  so  full 
of  philosophical  inquiry,  that  in  the  limits  of  a  romance  we 
cannot  possibly  do  it  justice ;  but  to  accuse  the  secret  Jews 
of  Spain  of  hypocrisy,  of  departing  from  the  pure  odinances 
of  their  religion,  because  compelled  to  simulate  Catholicism, 
is  taking  indeed  but  a  one-handed,  short-sighted  view  of  an 
extensive  and  intensely  interesting  topic.  We  may  often 
hope  for  the  present  by  considering  the  changes  of  the  past ; 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  171 

but  to  attempt  to  pronounce  judgment  on  the  sentiments  of 
the  past  by  reasoning  of  the  present,  when  the  mind  is  always 
advancing,  is  one  of  the  weakest  and  idlest  fallacies  that  ever 
entered  the  human  breast. 

Digression  as  this  is,  it  is  necessary  clearly  to  compre 
hend  the  situation  in  which  Marie's  avowal  of  her  religion 
had  placed  her,  and  her  reason  for  so  carefully  wording  her 
information  as  to  the  existence  of  the  secret  closet,  that  no 
suspicion  might  attach  itself  to  the  religion  of  her  husband. 
Her  confession  sent  a  shock,  which  vibrated  not  only  through 
Isabella's  immediate  court,  but  through  every  part  of  Spain. 
Suspicion  once  aroused,  none  knew  where  it  might  end,  or  on 
whom  fall.  In  her  first  impulse  to  save  Arthur,  she  had  only 
thought  of  what  such  confession  might  bring  to  herself  indi 
vidually,  and  that  was,  comparatively,  easy  to  endure;  but  as 
the  excitement  ceased,  as  the  dread  truth  dawned  upon  her, 
that,  if  he  must  die  at  the  expiration  of  the  given  month,  her 
avowal  had  been  utterly  useless,  the  dread  of  its  consequences, 
to  the  numerous  secret  members  of  her  faith  appalled  her,  and 
caused  the  firm  resolve  under  no  circumstances  to  betray  the 
religion  of  her  husband.  Him  indeed  it  could  not  harm ;  but 
that  one  so  high  in  rank,  in  influence,  in  favor  with  sovereigns 
and  people,  was  only  outwardly  a  Catholic,  might  have  most 
fatal  consequences  on  all  his  brethren.  That  he  should  have 
wedded  a  Jewess  might  excite  surprise,  but  nothing  more ; 
and  in  the  midst  of  her  varied  sufferings  she  could  rejoice 
that  all  suspicion  as  to  his  race  and  faith  had  been  averted. 
She  felt  thankful  also  at  being  kept  so  close  a  prisoner,  for 
she  dreaded  the  wrath  of  those  whom  her  avowal  might  have 
unwittingly  injured.  Such  an  instance  had  never  been  known 
before,  and  she  might  justly  tremble  at  the  chastisement  it 
might  bring  upon  her  even  from  her  own  people.  As  long 
as  she  was  under  Isabella's  care  she  was  safe  from  this ;  all 
might  feel  the  vibration,  but  none  dared  evince  that  they  did, 
by  the  adoption  of  any  measures  against  her,  further  than 
would  be  taken  by  the  Catholics  themselves. 

Knowing  this,  her  sole  prayer,  her  sole  effort  was  to 
obtain  mental  strength  sufficient  under  every  temptation, 
either  from  severity  or  kindness,  to  adhere  unshrinkingly  to 
the  faith  of  her  fathers — to  cling  yet  closer  to  the  love  of 
her  Father  in  heaven,  and  endeavor,  with  all  the  lowly  trust 


1 72  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS ] 

and  fervid  feelings  of  her  nature,  to  fill  the  yearning  void 
within  her  woman's  heart  with  his  image,  and  so  subdue 
every  human  love.  It  seemed  to  her  vivid  fancy  as  if  all  the 
misfortunes  she  had  encountered  sprung  from  her  first  sin — 
that  of  loving  a  Nazarene.  Hers  was  not  the  age  to  make 
allowances  for  circumstances  in  contradistinction  to  actual 
deeds.  Then.;  as  unhappily  but  too  often  now,  all  were  suffer 
ings  from  a  misplaced  affection — sprung,  not  from  her  fault,  but 
from  the  mistaken  kindness  which  it  exposed  her  to  without 
due  warning  of  her  danger.  Educated  with  the  strong  belief, 
that  to  love  or  wed,  beyond  the  pale  of  her  own  people  was 
the  greatest  sin  she  could  commit,  short  of  actual  apostacy, 
that  impression,  though  not  strong  enough,  so  to  conquer 
human  nature,  as  to  arm  against  love,  returned  with  double 
force,  as  sorrow  after  sorrow  gathered  round  her,  and  there 
were  none  beside  her  to  whisper  and  strengthen,  with  the 
blessed  truth  that  God  afiTicts  yet  more  in  mercy  than  in 
wrath ;  and  that  his  decrees,  however  fraught  with  human 
anguish,  are  but  blessings  in  disguise — blessings,  sown  indeed 
with  tears  on  earth,  to  reap  their  deathless  fruit  in  heaven. 

But  though  firmly  believing  all  her  suffering  was  deserv 
ed,  aware  that  when  she  first  loved  Arthur,  the  rebel-thought 
— •'  Why  am  I  of  a  race  so  apart  and  hated  ?"  had  very  fre 
quently  entered  her  heart,  tempting  her  at  times  with  fearful 
violence  to  give  up  all  for  love  of  man  j  yet  Marie  knew  that 
the  G.od  of  her  fathers  was  a  God  of  love,  calling  even  upon 
the  greatest  sinner  to  return  to  him  repentant  and  amend 
ing,  and  that  even  as  a  little  child  such  should  be  forgiven. 
He  had  indeed  proclaimed  himself  a  jealous  God,  and  would 
have  no  idol-worship,  were  it  by  wood  or  stone,  or,  far  more 
dangerous,  of  human  love ;  and  she  prayed  unceasingly  for 
strength  to  return  to  Him  with  an  undivided  heart,  even  if 
to  do  so  demanded  not  only  separation  from  Stanley — but  a 
trial  in  her  desolate  position  almost  as  severe — the  loss  of 
Isabella's  confidence  and  love. 

Few  words  passed  between  Marie  and  her  guardians  j 
their  manner  was  kind  and  gentle,  but  intercourse  between 
rigid  Catholics  and  a  proclaimed  Jewess,  could  not  be  other 
wise  than  restrained.  From  the  time  that  reason  returned, 
the  Queen  had  not  visited  her,  doing  actual  violence  to  her 
own  inclinations  from  the  mistaken — but  in  that  age  and  to  her 
character  natural — dread  that  the  affection  and  interest  she 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  17o 

felt  towards  Marie  personally,  would  lessen  the  sentiments  of 
loathing  and  abhorrence  with  which  it  was  her  duty  to  regard 
her  faith.  Isabella  had  within  herself  all  the  qualifications 
of  a  martyr.  Once  impressed  that  it  was  a  religious  duty, 
she  would  do  violence  to  her  most  cherished  wishes,  sacrifice 
her  dearest  desires,  her  best  affections,  resign  her  most  eager 
ly  pursued  plans — not  without  suffering  indeed,  but,  accord 
ing  to  the  mistaken  tenets  of  her  religion,  the  greater  per 
sonal  suffering,  the  more  meritorious  was  the  deed  believed 
to  be.  This  spirit  would,  had  she  lived  in  an  age  when  the 
Catholic  faith  was  the  persecuted,  not  the  persecutor,  have 
led  her  a  willing  martyr  to  the  stake ;  as  it  was,  this  same 
spirit  led  to  the  establishment  of  the  Inquisition,  and  ex 
pulsion  of  the  Jews — deeds  so  awful  in  their  consequences, 
that  the  actual  motive  of  the  woman-heart  which  prompted 
them  is  utterly  forgotten,  and  herself  condemned.  We  must 
indeed  deplore  the  mistaken  tenets  that  could  obtain  such 
influence — deplore  that  man  could  so  pervert  the  service  of 
a  God  of  love,  as  to  believe  and  inculcate  that  such  things 
could  be  acceptable  to  Him  ;  but  we  should  pause,  and  ask, 
if  we  ourselves  had  been  influenced  by  such  teaching,  could 
we  break  from  it  ?  ere  we  condemn. 

Isabella's  own  devoted  spirit  could  so  enter  into  the  real 
reason  of  Marie's  self  abnegation  for  Arthur's  sake,  that  it 
impelled  her  to  love  her  more  ;  while  at  the  very  same  time 
the  knowledge  of  her  being  a  Jewess,  whom  she  had  always 
been  taught  and  believed  must  be  accursed  in  the  sight  of 
God,  and  lost  eternally  unless  brought  to  believe  in  Jesus, 
urged  her  entirely  to  conquer  that  affection,  lest  its  indulgence 
should  interfere  with  her  resolution,  if  kindness  failed,  by 
severity  to  ccomplish  her  own  version.  She  was  too  weak  in 
health,  and  Isabella  intuitively  felt  too  terribly  anxious  as 
to  young  Stanley's  fate,  to  attempt  any  thing  till  after  the 
expiration  of  the  month ;  and  she  passed  that  interval  in 
endeavoring  to  calm  down  her  own  feelings  towards  her. 

So  fifteen  days  elapsed.  On  the  evening  of  the  fifteenth, 
Marie,  feeling  unusually  exhausted,  had  sunk  down,  without 
disrobing,  on  her  couch,  and  at  length  fell  into  a  slumber  so 
deep  and  calm,  that  her  guardians,  fearing  to  disturb  it,  and 
aware  that  her  dress  was  so  loose  and  light,  it  could  not 
annoy  her,  retired  softly  to  their  own  chamber  without 
arousing  her.  How  many  hours  this  lethargic  sleep  lasted, 


174  THE   VALE  OF   CEDARS', 

Marie  knew  not,  but  was  at  length  broken  by  a  dream  of 
terror,  and  so  unusually  vivid,  that  its  impression  lasted 
even  through  the  terrible  reality  which  it  heralded.  She 
beheld  Arthur  Stanley  on  the  scaffold  about  to  receive  the 
sentence  of  the  law — the  block,  the  axe,  the  executioner  with 
his  arm  raised,  and  apparently  already  deluged  in  blood — the 
gaping  crowds — all  the  fearful  appurtenances  of  an  execution 
were  distinctly  traced,  and  she  thought  she  sprung  towards 
Stanley,  who  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  the  executioner, 
instead  of  endeavoring  to  part  them,  smiled  grimly  as  rejoic 
ing  in  having  two  victims  instead  of  one ;  and  as  he  smiled, 
the  countenance  seemed  to  change  from  being  entirely  un 
known  to  the  sneering  features  of  the  hated  Don  Luis  Garcia. 
She  seemed  to  cling  yet  closer  to  Stanley,  and  knelt  with 
him  to  receive  the  blow ;  when,  at  that  moment,  the  scaffold 
shock  violently,  as  by  the  shock  of  an  earthquake,  a  dark 
chashm  yawned  beneath  their  feet,  in  the  centre  of  which 
stood  the  spectral  figure  of  her  husband,  his  countenance 
ghastly  and  stern,  and  his  arm  upraised  as  beckoning  her  to 
join  him.  And  then  he  spoke  ;  but  his  voice  sounded  unlike 
his  own : — 

"  Marie  Henriquez  Morales  !  awake,  arise,  and  follow  !" 
And  with  such  extraordinary  clearness  did  the  words  fall, 
that  she  started  up  in  terror,  believing  they  must  have  been 
spoken  by  her  side — and  they  were  !  they  might  have  min 
gled  with,  perhaps  even  created  her  dream.  She  still  lay  on 
her  couch ;  but  it  seemed  to  have  sunk  down  through  the 
very  floor  of  the  apartment*  she  had  occupied,  and  at  its 
foot  stood  a  figure,  who,  with  upraised  arm  held  before  her  a 
wooden  cross.  His  cowl  was  closely  drawn,  and  a  black  robe, 
of  the  coarsest  serge,  was  secured  round  his  waist  by  a  hem 
pen  cord.  Whether  he  had  indeed  spoken  the  words  she  had 
heard  in  her  dream  Marie  could  not  tell,  for  they  were  not 
repeated.  She  saw  him  approach  her,  and  she  felt  his  strong 
grasp  lift  her  from  the  couch,  which  sprung  up,  by  the  touch 
of  some  secret  spring,  to  the  place  whence  it  had  descended 
and  she  heard  no  more. 

*  I  may  be  accused  in  this  scene,  of  too  closely  imitating  a  some 
what  similar  occurrence  in  Anne  of  Geirstein.  Such  seeming  plagiarism 
was  scarcely  possible  to  be  avoided,  when  the  superstitious  proceed 
ings  of  the  vekmic  tribunal  of  Germany  and  the  secret  Inquisition  of 
Spain  are  represented  by  history  as  so  very  similar. 


OR,   THE   MARTYR. 


175 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  ISABEL.— Ha  !  little  honor  to  be  much  believed, 
And  most  pernicious  purpose— seeming,  seeming. 
I  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo !  look  for't ; 

Sign  me  a  present  pardon 

Or,  with  an  outstretch'd  throat,  I'll  tell  the  world 
Aloud  what  man  thou  art. 

"  ANGELO.— Who  will  believe  thee  1 
My  unsoil'd  name,  th'  austereness  of  my  life, 
My  vouch  against  you,  and  my  place  i'  the  State, 
Will  so  your  accusation  overweigh 
That  you  will  stifle  in  your  own  report 
The  smile  of  Calumny."  SHAKSPEi  RE. 

WHE.\  Marie  recovered  consciousness,  she  found  herself  in  a 
scene  so  strange,  so  terrific,  that  it  appeared  as  if  she  must 
have  been  borne  many  miles  from  Segovia,  so  utterly  impos 
sible  did  it  seem,  that  such  awful  orgies  could  be  enacted 
within  any  short  distance  of  the  sovereigns'  palace,  or  their 
subjects'  homes.  She  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  large  vaulted 
subterranean  hall,  which,  from  the  numerous  arched  en 
trances  to  divers  passages  and  smaller  chambers  that  opened 
on  every  side,  appeared  to  extend  far  and  wide  beneath  the 
very  bowels  of  the  earth.  It  was  lighted  with  torches,  but  so 
dimly,  that  the  gloom  exaggerated  the  horrors,  which  the  par 
tial  light  disclosed.  Instruments  of  torture  of  any  and  every 
kiu(i — the  rack,  the  wheel,  the  screw,  the  cord,  and  fire — 
groups  of  unearthly-looking  figures,  all  clad  in  the  coarse 
black  serge  and  hempen  belt;  some  with  their  faces  con 
cealed  by  hideous  masks,  and  others  enveloped  in  the  ccwls, 
through  which  only  the  eyes  could  be  distinguished,  the 
figure  of  the  cross  upon  the  breast,  and  under  that  emblem 
of  divine  peace,  inflicting  such  horrible  tortures  on  their  fel 
low-men  that  the  pen  shrinks  from  their  delineation.  Nor 
was  it  the  mere  instruments  of  torture  Marie  beheld :  she 
saw  them  in  actual  use ;  she  heard  the  shrieks  and  groans  of 
the  hapless  victims,  at  times  mingled  with  the  brutal  leers 
and  jests  of  their  fiendish  tormentors;  she  seemed  to  take  in 
at  one  view,  every  species  of  torture  that  could  be  inflicted, 


176 

every  pain  that  could  be  endured ;  and  yet,  comparatively^ 
but  a  few  of  the  actual  sufferers  were  visible.  The  shrillest 
sounds  of  agony  came  from  the  gloomy  arches,  in  which  no 
object  could  be  distinguished. 

Whatever  suffering  meets  the  sight,  it  does  not  so  exqui 
sitely  affect  the  brain  as  that  which  reaches  it  through  the 
ear.  At  the  former  the  heart  may  bleed  and  turn  sick ;  but 
at  the  latter  the  brain  seems,  for  the  moment,  wrought  into 
frenzy ;  and,  even  though  personally  in  safety,  it  is  scarcely 
possible  to  restrain  the  same  sounds  from  bursting  forth. 
How  then  must  those  shrill  sounds  of  human  agony  have 
fallen  on  the  hapless  Marie,  recognizing  as  she  did  with  the 
rapidity  of  thought,  in  the  awful  scene  around  her,  the  main 
hall  of  that  mysterious  and  terrible  tribunal,  whose  existence 
from  her  earliest  infancy  had  been  impressed  upon  her 
mind,  as  a  double  incentive  to  guard  tiie  secret  of  her  faith  ; 
that  very  Inquisition,  from  which  her  own  grandfather,  Ju- 
lien  Henriquez,  had  fled,  and  in  whicn  the  less  fortunate 
grandfather  of  her  slaughtered  husband,  had  been  tortured 
and  burnt. 

For  a  second  she  stood  mute'  and  motionless,  as  turned 
to  stone  ;  then,  pressing  both  hands  tightly  on  her  temples, 
she  sunk  down  at  the  feet  of  her  conductor,  and  sought  in 
words  to  beseech  his  mercy  ;  but  her  white  lips  gave  vent  to 
no  sound  save  a  shriek,  so  wild  that  it  seemed,  for  the  mo 
ment,  to  drown  all  other  sorrows,  and  startle  even  the  hu 
man  fiends  around  her.  Her  conductor  himself  started  back ; 
but  quickly  recovering — 

"  Fool !"  he  muttered,  as  he  rudely  raised  her.  "  I  havo 
no  power  to  aid  thee  ;  come  before  the  Superior — we  must 
all  obey — ask  him,  implore  him,  for  mercy,  not  me." 

He  bore  her  roughly  to  a  recess,  divided  off  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  hall,  by  a  thick  black  drapery,  in  which  sat  the 
Grand  Inquisitor  and  his  two  colleagues.  One  or  two  fami 
liars  were  behind  them,  and  a  secretary  sat  near  a  table  co 
vered  with  black  cloth,  and  on  which  were  several  writing 
implements.  All  wore  masks  of  black  crape,  so  thick  that 
not  a  feature  could  be  discerned  with  sufficient  clearness  for 
recognition  elsewhere  ;  yet,  one  glance  on  the  stern,  motion 
less  figure,  designated  as  the  Grand  Inquisitor,  sufficed  to 
bid  every  drop  of  blood  recede  from  the  prisoner's  heart  with 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  177 

human  terror,  at  the  very  same  moment  that  it  endowed  the 
woman  with  such  supernatural  fortitude  that  her  very  form 
seemed  to  dilate,  and  her  large  eye  and  lovely  mouth  ex 
pressed — if  it  could  be,  in  such  a  scene  and  such  an  hour — • 
unutterable  scorn.  Antipathy,  even  as  love,  will  pierce  dis 
guise  ;  and  that  one  glance,  lit  up  with  almost  bewildering 
light,  in  the  prisoner's  mind,  link  after  link  of  what  had  be 
fore  been  impenetrable  mystery.  Her  husband's  discovery 
of  her  former  love  for  Arthur ;  his  murder  ;  the  suspicion 
thrown  on  Stanley;  her  own  summons  as  witness  against 
him ;  her  present  danger  ;  all,  all  were  traced  to  one  indivi 
dual,  one  still  working  and  most  guilty  passion,  which  she, 
in  her  gentle  purity  and  holy  strength,  had  scorned.  She 
could  not  be  deceived — the  mystery  that  surrounded  him 
was  solved — antipathy  explained  ;  and  Marie's  earthly  fate 
lay  in  Don  Luis  Garcia's  hands  !  The  Grand  Inquisitor 
read  in  that  glance  that  he  was  known  ;  and  for  a  brief  mi 
nute  a  strange,  an  incomprehensible  sensation,  thrilled 
through  him.  It  could  scarcely  have  been  fear,  when  one 
gesture  of  his  hand  would  destine  that  frail  being  to  torture, 
imprisonment,  and  death  ;  and  yet  never  before  in  his  whole 
life  of  wickedness,  had  he  experienced  such  a  feeling  as  he 
did  at  that  moment  beneath  a  woman's  holy  gaze.  Anger  at 
himself  for  the  sensation,  momentary  as  it  was,  increased  the 
virulence  of  other  passions ;  but  then  was  not  the  hour  for 
their  betrayal.  In  low,  deep  tones,  he  commenced  the  mock 
ery  of  a  trial.  That  her  avowal  of  her  faith  would  elude 
torture,  by  at  once  condemning  her  to  the  flames,  was  disre 
garded.  She  was  formally  accused  of  blasphemy  and  he 
resy,  and  threatened  with  the  severest  vengeance  of  the 
church  which  she  had  reviled ;  but  that  this  case  of  per 
sonal  guilt  would  be  mercifully  laid  aside  for  the  present, 
for  still  more  important  considerations.  Was  her  late  hus 
band,  they  demanded,  of  the  same  blaspheming  creed  as  her 
self?  And  a  list  of  names,  comprising  some  of  the  highest 
families  of  Spain,  was  read  out  and  laid  before  her,  with  the 
stern  command  to  affix  a  mark  against  all  who,  like  herself, 
had  relapsed  into  the  foul  heresy  of  their  ancestors — to  dc 
this,  or  the  torture  should  wring  it  from  her. 

But  the  weakness  of  humanity  had  passed  ;  and  so  calm 
so  collected,  so  firm,  was  the  prisoner's  resolute  refusal  tc 


178  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

answer  either  question,  that  the  familiar  to  whom  she  had 
clung  for  mercy  looked  at  her  with  wonder.  Again  and 
again  she  was  questioned ;  instruments  of  torture  were 
brought  before  her — one  of  the  first  and  slightest  used — 
more  to  terrify  than  actually  to  torture,  for  that  was  not  yet 
the  Grand  Inquisitor's  design  ;  and  still  she  was  firm,  calm, 
unalterable  in  her  resolution  to  refuse  reply.  And  then  Don 
Luis  spoke  of  mercy,  which  was  to  consist  of  imprisonment 
in  solitude  and  darkness,  to  allow  time  for  reflection  on  her 
final  answer — a  concession,  he  said,  in  a  tone  far  more  terri 
fying  to  Marie  than  even  the  horrors  around  her,  only  grant 
ed  in  consideration  of  her  age  and  sex.  None  opposed  tho 
sentence ;  and  she  was  conducted  to  a  close  and  narrow  cell, 
in  which  no  light  could  penetrate  save  through  a  narrow 
chink  in  the  roof. 

How  many  days  and  nights  thus  passed  the  hapless  pri 
soner  could  not  have  told,  for  there  was  nothing  to  mark  the 
hours.  Her  food  was  delivered  to  her  by  means  of  a  turn- 
screw  in  the  wall,  so  that  not  even  the  sight  of  a  fellow- 
creature  could  disturb  her  solitude,  or  give  her  the  faintest 
hope  of  exciting  human  pity.  Her  sole  hope,  her  sole  re 
fuge  was  in  prayer ;  and,  oh  !  how  blessed  was  the  calm,  the 
confidence  it  gave. 

So  scanty  was  her  allowance  of  food,  that  more  than  once 
the  thought  crossed  her,  whether  or  not,  death  by  famine 
would  be  her  allotted  doom  ;  and  human  nature  shuddered, 
but  the  spirit  did  not  quail !  Hour  after  hour  passed,  she 
knew  not  whether  it  was  night  or  day,  when  the  gloom  of 
her  dungeon  was  suddenly  illumined ;  she  knew  not  at  first 
how  or  whence,  so  noiseless  was  the  entrance  of  the  intru 
der,  but  gradually  she  traced  the  light  to  a  small  lamp  held 
m  the  hand  of  a  shrouded  individual,  whom  she  recognized 
at  once.  There  was  one  fearful  thrill  of  mortal  dread,  one 
roiceless  cry  for  strength  from  Heaven,  and  Marie  Morales 
stood  before  Don  Luis  erect  and  calm,  and  firm  as  in  her 
hour  of  pride. 

Garcia  now  attempted  no  concealment.  His  mask  had 
been  cast  aside,  and  his  features  gleamed  without  any  effort 
at  hypocritical  restraint,  in  all  the  unholy  passions  of  his 
soul.  We  will  not  pollute  our  pages  with  transcribing  the 
fearful  words  of  passions  contending  in  their  nature,  yet 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  179 

united  in  their  object,  with  which  the  pure  ear  of  his  pris 
oner  was  first  assailed — still  lingering  desire,  yet  hate,  wrath, 
fury,  that  she  should  dare  still  oppose,  and  scorn,  and  loathe 
him ;  rage  with  himself,  that,  strive  as  he  might,  even  he  was 
baffled  by  the  angel  purity  around  her ;  longing  to  wreak 
upon  her  every  torture  that  his  hellish  office  gave  him  un 
checked  power  1p  inflict,  yet  fearing  that,  if  he  did  so,  death 
would  release  her  ere  his  object  was  attained  ;  all  strove  and 
raged  within  him,  making  his  bosom  a  very  hell,  from  which 
there  was  no  retracting,  yet  whose  very  flames  incited  deeper 
fury  towards  the  being  whom  he  believed  their  cause. 

"  And  solitude,  darkness,  privation — have  they  so  little 
availed  that  thou  wilt  tempt  far  fiercer  sufferings  ?"  he  at 
length  demanded,  struggling  to  veil  his  fury  in  a  quiet,  con 
centrated  tone.  "  Thou  hast  but  neared  the  threshold  of  the 
tortures  which  one  look,  one  gesture  of  my  hand,  can  gather 
around  thee  ;  tortures  which  the  strongest  sinew,  the  firmest 
mind,  have  been  unable  to  sustain — how  will  that  weakened 
frame  endure  ?" 

"  It  can  but  die,"  replied  the  prisoner,  "  as  nobler  and 
better  ones  have  done  before  me !" 

"Die !"  repeated  Garcia,  and  he  laughed  mockingly. 
"  Thinkest  thou  we  know  our  trade  so  little  that  such  release 
can  baffle  us  ?  I  tell  thee,  pain  of  itself  has  never  yet  had 
power  to  kill ;  and  we  have  learned  the  measure  of  endu 
rance  in  the  human  form  so  well,  that  we  have  never  yet 
been  checked  by  death,  ere  our  ends  were  gained.  And 
so  will  it  be  with  thee,  boldly  as  now  thou  speakest.  Thou 
hast  but  tasted  pain  !" 

"  Better  the  sharpest  torture  than  thy  hated  presence," 
calmly  rejoined  Marie.  "  My  soul  thou  canst  not  touch." 

.  "  Soul !  Has  a  Jewess  a  soul  ?  Nay,  by  my  faith,  thou 
talkest  bravely  !  An  thou  hast,  thou  hadst  best  be  mine, 
and  so  share  my  salvation  ;  there's  none  for  such  as  thee." 

"  Man  !"  burst  indignantly  from  the  prisoner.  "  Share 
thy  salvation !  Great  God  of  Israel !  that  men  like  these 
have  power  to  persecute  thy  children  for  their  faith,  and  do 
it  in  thy  name  !  And  speak  of  mercy !  Thou  hast  but 
given  me  another  incentive  for  endurance,"  she  continued, 
more  calmly  addressing  her  tormentor.  "  If  salvation  be 


180 

denied  to  us,  and  granted  thee,  I  would  refuse  it  with  nij 
dying  breath  ;  such  faith  is  not  of  God  !" 

"  I  came  not  hither  to  enter  on  such  idle  quibbles,"  was 
the  rejoinder.  "  It  matters  not  to  me  what  thou  art  after 
death,  but  before  it  mine  thou  shalt  be.  "What  hinders  me, 
at  this  very  moment,  from  working  my  will  upon  thee  ?  Who 
will  hear  thy  cry  ?  or,  hearing,  will  approach  thee  ?  These 
walls  have  heard  too  many  sounds  of  human  agony  to  bear 
thy  voice  to  those  who  could  have  mercy.  Tempt  me  not 
by  thy  scorn  too  far.  What  holds  me  from  thee  now  ?" 

"  What  holds  thee  from  me  ?  GOD  !"  replied  the  pris 
oner,  in  a  tone  of  such  thrilling,  such  supernatural  energy, 
that  Garcia  actually  started  as  if  some  other  voice  than  hers 
had  spoken,  and  she  saw  him  glance  fearfully  round.  "  Thou 
darest  not  touch  me  !  Ay,  villain — blackest  and  basest  as 
thou  art — thou  darest  not  do  it.  The  God  thine  acts,  yet 
more  than  thy  words  blaspheme,  withholds  thee — and  thou 
knowest  it  !" 

"  I  defy  him  !"  were  the  awful  words  that  answered  her; 
and  Don  Luis  sprang  forwards. 

"  Back  !"  exclaimed  the  heroic  girl.  «  Advance  one  step 
nearer,  and  thy  vengeance,  even  as  thy  passion,  will  alike  be 
foiled — and  may  God  forgive  the  deed  I  do." 

She  shook  down  the  beautiful  tresses  of  her  long  luxu 
riant  hair,  and,  parting  them  with  both  hands  around  her 
delicate  throat,  stood  calmly  waiting  in  Don  Luis's  move 
ments  the  signal  for  her  own  destruction. 

^  "  Fool !"  he  muttered,  as  involuntarily  he  fell  back,  awed 
— in  spite  of  his  every  effort  to  the  contrary — at  a  firmness 
as  unexpected  as  it  was  unwavering.  "  Fool !  Thou  knowest 
not  the  power  it  is  thy  idle  pleasure  to  defy ;  thou  wilt  learn 
it  all  too  soon,  and  then  in  vain  regret  thy  scorn  of  my 
proffer  now.  Thou  hast  added  tenfold  to  my  wild  yearning 
for  revenge  on  thy  former  scorn — tenfold  !  ay,  twice  tenfold, 
to  thy  own  tortures.  Yet,  once  more,  I  bid  thee  pause  and 
choose.  Fools  there  are,  who  dare  all  personal  physical  tor 
ment,  and  yet  shrink  and  quail  before  the  thought  of  death  for 
a  beloved  one.  Idiots,  who  for  others,  sacrifice  themselves ; 
perchance  thou  wilt  be  one  of  them.  Listen,  and  tremble  ; 
or,  sacrifice,  and  save  !  When  in  thy  haughty  pride?  and 
zenith  of  thy  power,  thou  didst  scorn  me.  and  bidding  me?  with 


OR, 


181 


galling  contempt,  go  from  thy  presence  as  if  I  were  a  loath 
some  reptile,  unworthy  even  of  thy  tread,  I  bade  thee  beware, 
and  to  myself  swore  vengeance.  And  knowest  thou  how  that 
was  accomplished?  Who  led  thy  doting  husband  where 
he  might  hear  thine  own  lips  proclaim  thy  falsity  ?  Who 
poisoned  the  chalice  of  life,  which  had  bevm  so  sweet,  ere  it 
was  dashed  from  his  lips  by  death  ?  Who  commanded  the 
murderer's  blow,  and  the  weapon  with  which  it  was  accom 
plished  ?  Who  laid  the  charge  of  his  murder  on  the  foreign 
minion,  and  brought  thee  in  evidence  against  him  ?  Who 

"but  I even  I !     And  if  I  have  done  all  this,  thinkest  thou 

to  elude  my  further  vengeance  ?  I  tell  thee,  if  thou  refuse 
the  grace  I  proffer,  Arthur  Stanley  dies  ;  accept  it,  and  he 
lives !" 

"  And  not  at  such  a  price  would  Arthur  Stanley  wish  to 
live,"  replied  Marie  calmly.  '•  He  would  spurn  existence 
purchased  thus." 

"  Ay,  perchance,  if  he  knew  it ;  but  be  it  as  thou  wilt,  he 
shall  know  thou  couldst  have  saved  him  and  refused." 

"  And  thinkest  thou  he  will  believe  thee  ?  As  little  as  I 
believed  him  my  husband's  murderer.  How  little  knowest 
thou  the  trust  of  love  !  He  will  not  die,"  she  continued  em 
phatically;  "his  innocence  shall  save  him — thy  crime  be 
known." 

« Ay !"  replied  Garcia,  with  a  sneering  laugh.  "  Give 
thyself  wings  as  a  bird,  and  still  stone  walls  will  encircle 
thee ;  dwindle  into  thin  air,  and  gain  the  outer  world,  and 
tell  thy  tale,  and  charge  Don  Luis  Garcia  with  the  deed,  and 
who  will  believe  thee  ?  Thinkest  thou  I  would  have  boasted 
of  my  triumphant  vengeance  to  aught  who  could  betray  me  ? 
Why  my  very  tool,  the  willing  minister  of  my  vengeance — 
who  slew  Morales  merely  because  I  bade  him — might  not 
live,  lest  he  should  be  tempted  to  betray  me ;  I  slew  him 
with  my  own  hand.  What  sayest  thou  now — shall  Stanley 
live,  if  I  say  Let  him  die  ?" 

There  was  no  reply,  but  he  looked  in  vain  for  any  dimi 
nution  in  the  undaunted  resolution  which  still  sustained  her. 
"  I  go,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause.  "  Yet,  once  more,  I 
charge  thee  choose  ;  accept  the  terms  I  proffer — be  mine— 
and  thou  art  saved  from  all  further  torture  thyself,  and  Stan 
ley  lives.  Refuse,  and  the  English  minion  dies  ;  and  when 


182  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

thou  and  I  next  meet,  it  will  be  where  torture  and  execu 
tioners  wait  but  my  nod  to  inflict  such  suffering  that  thou 
wilt  die  a  thousand  deaths  in  every  pang.  And,  Jewess — 
unbeliever  as  thou  art — who  will  dare  believe  it  more  than 
public  justice,  or  accuse  me  of  other  than  the  zeal,  which  the 
service  of  Christ  demands?  Choose,  and  quickly — wilt 
thou  accept  my  proffers,  and  be  mine  ?  Thou  must,  at  last. 
What  avails  this  idle  folly  of  tempting  torture  first  ?" 

"  Thou  mayest  kill  my  body,  but  thou  canst  not  pollute 
my  soul,"  was  the  instant  reply,  and  its  tones  were  un 
changed.  «  And  as  for  Stanley,  his  life  or  death  is  not  in 
thine  hands  ;  but  if  it  were,  I  could  not — nay,  thus  I  would 
not — save  him.  I  reject  thy  proffers,  as  I  scorn  thyself. 
Now  leave  me — I  have  chosen  !" 

^  Don  Luis  did  not  reply,  but  Marie  beheld  his  cheek  grow 
livid,  and  the  foam  actually  gather  on  his  lip ;  but  the  calm 
and  holy  gaze  she  had  fixed  upon  him,  as  he  spoke,  quailed 
not,  nor  changed.  The  invisible  door  of  her  cell  closed  with 
a  deep,  sullen  sound,  as  if  her  tormentor  had  thus,  in  some 
measure,  given  vent  to  the  unutterable  fury  shaking  his  soul 
to  its  centre ;  and  Marie  was  alone.  She  stood  for  many, 
many  minutes,  in  the  fearful  dread  of  his  return  ;  and  then 
she  raised  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and  her  lip  blanched  and 
quivered,  and,  with  a  long,  gasping  breath,  she  sunk  down 
upon  the  cold  floor — all  the  heroine  lost  in  an  agonized  burst 
of  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  Hovers  the  steel  above  his  head, 
Suspended  by  a  spider  thread : 
On,  on  !  a  life  hangs  on  thy  speed ; 
With  lightning  wing  the  gallant  steed ! 
Buoy  the  full  heart  up !    It  will  sink 
If  it  but  pause  to  feel  and  think. 
There  is  no  time  to  dread  his  fate : 
No  thought  but  one — too  late,  too  late !" 

MS. 

Too  soon  did  Marie  realize  the  power  of  Don  Luis  to  exer 
ise  his  threatened  vengeance  !     Two  days  after  that  terri- 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  183 

ble  interview,  she  was  again  dragged  to  the  hall  of  judg 
ment  :  the  same  questions  were  proposed  as  before,  whether 
or  not  she  would  denounce  the  secret  followers  of  her  own 
creed,  and  confess  her  late  husband's  real  belief;  and  the 
same  firm  answers  given.  We  shrink  in  loathing  from  the 
delineation  of  horrible  tortures  applied  to  that  frail  and  gen 
tle  being — shrink,  for  we  know  that  such  things  actually  have 
been ;  and  women — young,  lovely,  inoffensive  as  Marie  Mo 
rales — have  endured  the  same  exquisite  agony  for  the  same 
iniquitous  purpose !  In  public,  charged  to  denounce  inno 
cent  fellow-beings,  or  suffer ;  in  private — in  those  dark  and 
fearful  cells — exposed  to  all  the  horror  and  terror  of  such 
persecution  as  we  have  faintly  endeavored  to  describe.  It  is 
no  picture  of  the  imagination,  delighting  to  dwell  on  horrors. 
Would  that  it  were !  Its  parallel  will  be  found,  again  and 
again  repeated,  in  the  annals — not  of  the  Inquisition  alone 
— but  of  every  European  state  where  the  Romanists  held 
sway. 

But  Marie's  prayer  for  superhuman  strength  had  been 
heard.  No  cry,  scarcely  a  groan,  escaped  her.  She  saw  Don 
Luis  at  her  side ;  she  heard  his  hissing  whisper  that  there 
was  yet  time  to  retract  and  be  released  j  but  she  deigned 
him  no  reply  whatever.  It  was  not  his  purpose  to  try  her 
endurance  to  the  utmost  in  the  first,  second,  or  third  trial ; 
though,  so  enraged  at  her  calmness,  as  scarcely  to  be  able  to 
restrain  it  even  before  his  colleagues,  and  with  difficulty  con 
trolling  his  fiendish  desire  to  increase  the  torture  to  its  ut 
most  at  once,  he  remanded  her  to  her  dungeon  till  his  fur 
ther  pleasure  should  be  known.  She  had  fainted  under  the 
intolerable  pain,  and  lay  for  many  successive  hours,  too  ex 
hausted  even  to  raise  to  her  parched  lips  the  pitcher  of  water 
lying  near  her.  And  even  the  gradual  cessation  of  suffering, 
the  sensation  of  returning  power,  brought  with  them  the 
agonized  thought,  that  they  did  but  herald  increased  and 
increasing  torture. 

One  night — she  knew  not  how  long  after  she  had  been 
remanded  to  her  cell,  but,  counting  by  suffering,  it  felt  many 
weary  nights  and  days — she  sunk  into  a  sleep  or  trance, 
which  transported  her  to  her  early  home  in  the  Yale  of  Ce 
dars.  Her  mother  seemed  again  to  stand  before  her ;  and 
she  thought,  as  she  heard  her  caressing  voice,  and  met  the 


184  THE    VALE    OF    CEDAKfe j 

glance  of  her  dove-like  eyes,  she  laid  her  head  oil  her  bosom, 
as  she  was  wont  to  do  in  her  happy  childhood  5  and  peace 
seemed  to  sink  into  her  heart  so  blessedly,  so  deeply,  that  the 
very  fever  of  her  frame  departed.  A  voice  aroused  her  with 
a  start ;  it  was  so  like  her  mother's,  that  the  dream  seemed 
lingering  still. 

"  Marie,  my  beloved  one,"  murmured  the  voice,  and  a 
breath  fanned  her  cheek,  as  if  some  one  were  leaking  over 
her.  She  unclosed  her  eyes — the  words,  the  voice,  still  so 
kept  up  the  illusion,  though  the  tones  were  deeper  than  a 
woman's,  that  even  the  hated  dress  of  a  familiar  of  the  Inqui 
sition  could  not  create  alarm.  "  Hast  thou  forgotten  me, 
my  child  ?  But  it  matters  not  now.  Say  only  thou  wilt 
trust  me,  and  safety  lies  before  us.  The  fiends  hold  not  their 
hellish  court  to-night;  and  the  arch-fiend  himself  is  far  dis 
tant,  on  a  sudden  summons  from  the  King,  which,  though 
the  grand  Inquisitor  might  scorn,  Don  Luis  will  obey.  Wilt 
come  with  me,  my  child  ?" 

"  Ay,  any  where  !  That  voice  could  not  deceive  :  but  'tis 
all  vain,"  she  continued,  the  first  accents  of  awakened  hope 
lost  in  despondency — "I  cannot  rise." 

"  It  needs  not.  Do  thou  hold  the  lantern,  Marie  ;  utter 
not  a  word — check  even  thy  breath — and  the  God  of  thy 
fathers  shall  save  thee  yet." 

He  raised  her  gently  in  his  arms  ;  and  the  hope  of  liber 
ty,  of  rescue  from  Don  Luis,  gave  her  strength  to  grasp  the 
light  to  guide  them.  She  could  not  trace  their  way,  but  she 
felt  they  left  the  dungeon,  and  traversed  many  long,  damp, 
and  narrow  passages,  seemingly  excavated  in  the  solid  earth. 
All  was  silent,  and  dark  as  the  tomb ;  now  and  then  her 
guide  paused,  as  if  to  listen ;  but  there  was  no  sound.  He 
knew  well  the  secret  paths  he  trod. 

The  rapid  motion,  even  the  sudden  change,  almost  de 
prived  Marie  of  consciousness.  She  was  only  sensible,  by  a 
sudden  change  from  the  close,  damp,  passages  to  the  free 
breezes  of  night,  that  she  was  in  the  open  air,  and  apparently 
a  much  freer  path ;  that  still  her  guide  pressed  swiftly  on 
wards,  apparently  scarcely  feeling  her  light  weight ;  that, 
after  a  lengthened  interval,  she  was  laid  tenderly  on  a  soft, 
luxurious  couch — at  least,  so  it  seemed,  compared  with  the 
cold  floor  of  her  cell ;  that  the  blessed  words  of  thanksgiving 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  185 


that  she  was  safe  broke  from  that  strangely  faivihar  voice ; 
and  she  asked  no  more— seemed  even  to  wish  DO  more— so 
completely  was  all  physical  power  prostrated.     Sh«  lay  calm 
and  still,  conscious  only  that  she  was  saved.     Her  guide  him 
self  for  some  time  disturbed  her  not ;  but  after  changing  his 
dress,  and  preparing  a  draught  of  cooling  herbs,  he  knrtt 
down,  raised  her  head  on  his  knee  with  almost  woman's  t* 
derness,  and,  holding  the  draught  to  her  lips,  said,  gently-   • 
"  Drink,  beloved  child  of  my  sainted  sister  ;  there  is  hi 
and  health  in  the  draught." 

Hastily  swallowing  it,  Marie  gazed  wildly  in  his  face.— 
The  habiliments  of  the  familiar  had  been  changed  for  those 
of  a  Benedictine  monk ;  his  cowl  thrown  back,  and  the  now 
well  remembered  countenance  of  her  uncle  Julien  was  beam 
ing  over  her.  In  an  instant,  the  arm  she  could  still  use  was 
thrown  round  him,  and  her  head  buried  in  his  bosom  ;  every 
pulse  throbbing  with  the  inexpressible  joy  of  finding,  when 
most  desolate,  one  relative  to  love  and  save  her  still.  Julien 
left  not  his  work  of  healing  and  of  security  incomplete  ; 
gradually  he  decreased,  by  the  constant  application  of  linen 
bathed  in  some  cooling  fluid,  the  scorching  fire  which  ^  still 
seemed  to  burn  within  the  maimed  and  shrivelled  limb; 
parted  the  thick  masses  of  dishevelled  hair  from  her  burn 
ing  temples,  and  bathed  them  with  some  cooling  and  reviving 
essence  ;  gently  removed  the  sable  robes,  and  replaced  them 
with  the  dress  of  a  young  novice  which  he  had  provided ; 
concealed  her  hair  beneath  the  white  linen  hood,  and  then, 
administering  a  potion  which  he  knew  would  produce  deep 
and  refreshing  sleep,  and  so  effectually  calm  the  fevered 
nerves,  she  sunk  down  on  the  soft  moss  and  heath  which 
formed  her  couch,  and  slept  calmly  and  sweetly  as  an  infant 
for  many  hours. 

Julien  Morales  had  entered  Segovia  in  his  monkish  garb, 
as  was  frequently  his  custom,  on  the  evening  of  the  trial.— 
The  excitement  of  the  whole  city  naturally  called  forth  his 
queries  as  to  its  cause  ;  and  the  information  imparted — the 
murder  of  Don  Ferdinand,  and  incomprehensible  avowal  of 
Judaism  on  the  part  of  his  niece — demanded  a  powerful 
exercise  of  self-control  to  prevent,  by  a  betrayal  of  unusual 
grief  and  horror,  his  near  relationship  to  both  parties.  ^  Ho 
vering  about  the  palace,  he  heard  of  Isabella's  merciful  inten- 


186  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS J 

tions  towards  Marie ;  and  feeling  that  his  presence  might 
only  agitate,  and  could  in  nothing  avail  her,  he  had  resolved 
on  leaving  the  city  without  seeing  her,  when  her  mysterious 
disappearance  excited  all  Segovia  anew. 

Julien  Morales  alone,  perhaps,  amidst  hundreds,  in  his 
own  mind  solved  the  mystery  at  once.  Well  did  he  know 
the  existence  of  the  secret  Inquisition.  As  we  narrated  in 
one  of  our  early  chapters,  the  fate  of  his  father  had  so  fixed 
itself  upon  his  mind,  that  he  had  bound  himself  by  a  secret, 
though  solemn  oath,  as  his  avenger.  To  accomplish  this 
fully,  he  had  actually  spent  ten  years  of  his  life  as  familiar 
in  the  Inquisition.  The  fate  of  Don  Luis's  predecessor  had 
been  plunged  in  the  deepest  mystery.  Some  whispered  his 
death  was  by  a  subtle  poison  ;  others,  that  his  murderer  had 
sought  him  in  the  dead  of  night,  and,  instead  of  treacherous 
ly  dealing  the  blow,  had  awakened  him,  and  bade  him  con 
fess  his  crimes — one  especially ;  and  acknowledge  that  if  the 
mandate  of  the  Eternal,  "  Whoso  sheddeth  man's  blood,  by 
man  shall  his  blood  be  shed,"  were  still  to  govern  man,  his 
death  was  but  an  act  of  justice  which  might  not  be  eluded. 
Whether  these  whispered  rumors  had  to  do  with  Julien 
Morales  or  not,  we  leave  to  the  judgment  of  our  readers. — 
Suffice  it,  that  not  only  was  his  vow  accomplished,  but,  during 
his  ten  years'  residence  in  these  subterranean  halls,  he  natu 
rally  became  familiarized  with  all  their  secret  passages  and 
invisible  means  of  egress  and  ingress — not  only  to  the  appa 
rently  private  homes  of  unoffensive  citizens,  but  into  the 
wild  tracts  of  country  scattered  round.  By  one  of  these  he 
had,  in  fact,  effected  his  own  escape  ;  and  in  the  mild  and 
benevolent  Benedictine  monk — known  alike  to  the  cities  and 
solitudes  of  Spain — none  would  have  recognized  the  former 
familiar  of  the  Inquisition,  and  still  less  have  imagined  him 
the  being  which  in  reality  he  was — a  faithful  and  believing 
Jew. 

To  him,  then,  it  was  easy  to  connect  the  disappearance  of 
Marie  with  the  existence  of  the  Holy  Office,  even  though  he 
was  entirely  ignorant  of  Garcia's  ulterior  designs.  In  an 
agony  of  apprehension,  he  resolved  on  saving  her  if  possi 
ble,  even  while  he  trembled  at  the  delay  which  must  neces 
sarily  ensue  ere  he  could  arrange  and  execute  his  plans,  more 
especially  as  it  was  dangerous  to  associate  a  second  person 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  187 

in  their  accomplishment.  With  all  his  haste  and  skill  he 
was  not  in  time  to  save  her  from  the  barbarity  of  her  mis 
named  judges.  His  very  soul  was  wrung,  as  he  stood 
amongst  the  familiars  a  silent  witness  of  her  sufferings  ;  but 
to  interfere  was  impossible.  One  thing,  however,  was  favor 
able.  He  knew  she  would  not  be  again  disturbed  till  a  suf 
ficient  time  had  elapsed  for  the  recovery  of  such  strength  as 
would  enable  her  to  endure  further  torture  ;  and  he  had, 
therefore,  some  time  before  him  for  their  flight. 

Her  voluntary  avowal  of  her  faith — aware  too,  as  she 
was,  of  the  existence  of  the  Inquisition — had,  indeed,  per 
plexed  the  good  uncle  greatly  ;  but  she  was  in  no  state,  even 
when  partially  recovered  from  physical  weakness,  to  enter 
into  explanation  then.  He  saw  she  was  unhappy,  and  the 
loss  of  her  husband  might  well  account  for  it.  To  the 
rumors  which  had  reached  him  in  Segovia,  as  to  the  suppo 
sitions  of  the  real  cause  of  Stanley's  enmity  to  Morales,  and 
Marie's  self-sacrifice,  he  would  not  even  listen,  so  completely 
without  foundation  did  they  seem  to  him. 

The  second  evening  after  their  escape,  they  left  the  cave 
to  pursue  their  journey.  Father  Ambrose — for  so,  now  he 
has  resumed  his  monkish  garb,  we  must  term  Julien — had 
provided  a  mule  for  the  novice's  use  ;  and  thus  they  leisure 
ly  traversed  the  desolate  and  mountainous  tract  forming  the 
boundaries  of  the  provinces  now  termed  old  and  new  Castile. 
Neither  uncle  nor  niece  spoke  of  their  destined^goal ;  Marie 
intuitively  felt  she  was  proceeding  to  the  Vale  of  Cedars, 
the  only  place  of  safety  now  for  her  ;  but,  so  engrossed  was 
her  mind  with  the  vain  thought  how  to  save  Arthur,  that  for 
herself  she  could  not  frame  a  wish. 

The  second  evening  of  their  journey  they  entered  a 
small,  straggling  village,  so  completely  buried  in  mountains 
that  its  existence  was  unknown  save  to  its  own  rustic  inhab 
itants.  The  appearance  of  a  monk  evidently  caused  an 
unusual  excitement,  which  was  speedily  explained.  The 
chief  of  the  villagers  approached  Father  Ambrose,  and, 
addressing  him  with  the  greatest  respect,  entreated  him  to 
follow  him  to  his  house,  where,  he  said,  lay  a  man  at  the 
point  of  death,  who  had,  from  the  time  he  became  aware  of 
his  dangerous  position,  incessantly  called  for  a  priest  to 
shrive  him  from  some  deadly  sin.  He  had  been  found,  the 


188 

villager  continued,  in  a  deep  pit  sunk  in  a  solitary  glen  half 
way  to  Segovia,  with  every  appearance  of  attempted  murder, 
which,  being  supposed  complete,  the  assassins  had  thrown 
him  into  the  pit  to  conceal  their  deed  ;  but  chancing  to  hear 
his  groans  as  he  passed,  he  had  rescued  him,  and  hoped  to 
have  cured  his  wounds.  For  three  weeks  they  seemed  to 
progress  favorably,  but  then  fever — occurring,  he  thought, 
from  great  restlessness  of  mind — had  rapidly  increased,  and, 
after  ten  days  of  fearful  struggle  between  life  and  death 
mortification  had  ensued,  and  hope  could  exist  no  longer 
At  first,  Perez  added,  he  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  idea  ot 
priestly  aid,  only  harping  on  one  theme — to  get  strength 
enough  to  reach  Segovia,  and  speak  to  the  King.  They  haft 
thought  him  mad,  but  humored  him ;  but  now  he  wa» 
almost  furious  in  his  wild  cries  for  a  priest,  not  only  te 
shrive  him,  but  to  bear  his  message  to  the  King.  They  ha^ 
tried  to  gratify  him,  but  their  distance  from  any  town  01 
monastery  had  prevented  it ;  and  they  now,  therefore,  hailed 
Father  Ambrose  almost  as  sent  from  heaven  to  save  a  sinnei 
by  absolution  ere  he  died. 

This  tale  was  told  as  the  monk  and  novice  hastened  with 
Perez  to  his  house.  The  poor  inhabitants  thronged  his  path 
to  crave  a  blessing,  and  proffer  every  attention  their  simple 
means  afforded.  Fearing  for  Marie,  Julien's  only  care  was 
for  the  supposed  novice  ;  and  therefore  Perez,  at  his  request, 
eagerly  led  her  to  a  large  comfortable  chamber,  far  removed 
from  the  bustle  of  the  house,  and  left  her  to  repose.  But 
repose  was  not  at  that  moment  possible,  even  though  her 
slightly  returning  strength  was  exhausted,  from  the  fatigue 
of  a  long  day's  travel.  Fruit  and  cakes  were  before  her ; 
but,  though  her  mouth  was  parched  and  dry,  she  turned  from 
them  in  loathing ;  and  interminable  seemed  the  space  till 
Father  Ambrose  returned.  Ere  he  spoke,  he  carefully  closed 
and  secured  the  door,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  cautious  tone, 
"  My  child,  this  is  indeed  the  finger  of  a  righteous  God — 
blessed  be  His  name  !  The  unhappy  man  to  whose  dying 
bed  they  brought  me " 

"  Is  the  murderer  of  my  husband !"  interposed  Marie  in 
a  tone  of  almost  unnatural  calmness.  "  I  knew  it  from  the 
first  moment  Perez  spoke.  We  have  but  to  think  of  one 
thing  now — Stanley  is  innocent,  and  must  be  saved  !" 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  189 

"  And  shall  be,  if  possible,  my  child  ;  but  there  are  fear 
ful  difficulties  in  the  way.  The  unhappy  man  conjures  me 
not  to  leave  him,  and  is  in  such  a  horrible  state  of  mental 
and  bodily  agony  that  I  fear  if  I  do,  he  will  commit  some 
act  of  violence  on  himself,  and  so  render  his  evidence  of  no 
avail.  We  are  not  much  above  sixty  miles  from  Segovia,  but 
the  roads  are  cross  and  rugged ;  so  that  it  will  need  steadi 
ness  and  speed,  and  instant  audience  with  the  King." 

"  But  time — have  we  time  ?"  reiterated  Marie.  "  Say  but 
there  is  time,  and  every  other  difficulty  shall  be  smoothed." 

"  There  is  full  time  :  the  execution  is  not  till  the  second 
day  after  to-morrow.  Nay,  my  child,"  he  added,  observing 
her  look  of  doubting  bewilderment,  "  suffering  makes  the 
hours  seem  longer  than  they  are.  Fear  not  for  time,  but 
counsel  me  whom  to  send.  Who  amongst  these  poor  ig 
norant  rustics  will  ever  reach  the  King — or,  failing  him,  the 
Chief  Hermano — and  make  his  tale  so  sufficiently  clear  as  to 
release  the  prisoner,  and  send  messengers  here  with  the  ne 
cessary  speed  to  take  down  this  man's  confession  ?  He  can 
not  linger  two  days  more.  Would  that  I  could  go  myself ; 
but  I  can  leave  neither  him  nor  thee." 

"  And  it  needs  not,"  was  the  firm  reply.  "  Father,  I  my 
self  will  do  thy  errand.  There  must  be  no  delay,  no  chance 
of  hesitation  in  its  accomplishment.  Ah  !  do  not  look  upon 
me  as  if  my  words  were  wild  and  vain ;  were  there  other 
means  I  would  not  speak  them — but  he  must  be  saved  !  ' 

"  And  again  at  the  sacrifice  of  thy  safety — perchance  thy 
life  !  Marie,  Marie  !  what  hold  has  this  young  stranger 
upon  thee  that  thou  shouldest  twice  so  peril  thyself?  Thy 
life  is  dearer  to  me  than  his — I  cannot  grant  thy  boon." 

"  Nay,  but  thou  must.  Listen  to  me,  my  second  father  ! 
If  Stanley  dies,  his  blood  is  on  my  head  !"  And  struggling 
with  strong  emotion,  she  poured  forth  her  whole  tale. 

"And  thou  lovest  him  still — him,  a  Nazarene— thou, 
child,  wife,  of  an  unstained  race  !  And  is  it  for  this,  thy 
zeal  to  save  him  ?"  ejaculated  Julien,  retreating  several  paces 
from  her— "Can  it  be?" 

"  I  would  save  him  because  he  is  innocent — because  he 
has  borne  more  than  enough  for  me  ;  for  aught  else,  thou 
wrongest  me,  father.  He  will  never  be  to  me  more  than  he 
is  now." 


190  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS ] 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  the  tone  of  mournful  reproach 
in  which  those  simple  words  were  said.  Julien  pressed  her 
to  his  bosom,  bade  God  bless  her,  and  promised,  if  indeed 
there  were  no  other  means,  her  plan  should  be  adopted ;  ob 
jection  after  objection,  indeed,  he  brought  forward,  but  all 
were  overruled.  She  pledged  herself  to  retain  her  disguise, 
and  to  return  with  Perez,  without  hesitation,  and  accompany 
her  uncle  to  the  vale,  as  intended.  But  that  she  should 
start  at  once,  he  positively  refused.  How  could  she  Lope  to 
accomplish  her  journey  without,  at  least,  two  hours'  repose  ? 
It  was  then  late  in  the  evening.  At  six  the  next  morning 
all  should  be  ready  for  her  journey,  and  thei«  would  be  still 
more  than  twenty-four  hours  before  her  ;  Marie  tried  to  be 
content,  but  the  horrible  dread  of  being  too  late  did  not 
leave  her  for  a  moment,  even  in  sleep,  and  inexpressibly 
thankful  was  she  when  the  morning  dawned.  .  Julien's 
provident  care  had  been  active  while  she  slept.  Perez,  nat 
tered  at  the  trust  reposed  in  him,  had  offered  himself  to  ac 
company  the  young  novice  to  Segovia :  and  at  the  appointed 
hour  he  was  ready,  mounted  himself,  and  leading  a  strong, 
docile  palfrey  for  brother  Ernest's  use.  He  knew  an  hos- 
tellerie,  he  said,  about  twenty  miles  from  the  city,  where  their 
steeds  could  be  changed  ;  and  promised  by  two  hours  after 
noon,  the  very  latest,  the  novice  should  be  with  the  King. 
It  could  be  done  in  less  time,  he  said ;  but  his  reverence  had 
told  him  the  poor  boy  was  unusually  delicate,  and  had,  more 
over,  lost  the  use  of  his  left  arm ;  and  he  thought,  as  there 
was  so  much  time  before  them,  it  was  needless  to  exhaust  his 
strength  before  his  errand  was  done.  Julien  expressed  his 
entire  satisfaction,  gave  them  his  blessing,  and  they  were 
rapidly  out  of  sight. 

Once  or  twice  they  halted  to  give  their  horses  rest  and 
refresh  themselves ;  but  so  absorbed  were  the  senses  of 
Marie,  that  she  was  unconscious  of  fatigue.  Every  mile 
they  traversed  seemed  bearing  a  heavy  load  from  her  chest, 
and  enabling  her  to  breathe  more  freely ;  while  the  fresh 
breeze  and  exciting  exercise  seemed  actually  to  revive  her. 
It  wanted  rather  more  than  an  hour  for  noon  when  they 
reached  the  hostellerie  mentioned  by  Perez.  Two  fleet  and 
beautiful  horses  were  speedily  provided  for  them,  bread  and 
fruit  partaken,  and  Perez,  ready  mounted,  was  tasting  the 
stirrup  cup,  when  his  friend  demanded — 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  191 

"  Is  it  to  Segovia  ye  are  bound  ?" 

"  Yes,  man,  on  an  important  errand,  charged  by  his  rev 
erence  Father  Ambrose  himself." 

"  His  reverence  should  have  sent  you  two  hours  earlier, 
arid  you  would  have  been  in  time  for  one  of  the  finest  sights 
seen  since  Isabella — God  bless  her  ! — begun  to  reign.  They 
were  common  enough  a  few  years  back." 

"  What  sight  ?  and  why  am  I  not  in  time  ?" 

"  Now,  art  thou  not  the  veriest  rustic  to  be  so  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  world's  doings  ?  Why,  to-day  is  the  solemn 
execution  of  the  young  foreigner  whom  they  believe  uc  have 
murdered  Don  Ferdinand  Morales — the  saints  preserve 
him  !  He  is  so  brave  a  fellow,  they  say,  that  had  it  not  been 
for  this  confounded  hostellerie  I  would  have  made  an  effort 
to  be  present :  I  love  to  see  how  a  brave  man  meets  death. 
It  was  to  have  been  two  hours  after  day-break  this  morning, 
but  Juan  here  tells  me  it  was  postponed  till  noon.  The 
King—" 

He  was  proceeding,  when  he  was  startled  by  a  sharp  cry, 
and  Perez,  hastily  turning,  caught  the  novice  as  he  was  in 
the  act  of  falling  from  his  horse.  In  an  instant,  however, 
he  recovered,  and  exclaiming,  in  a  thrilling  tone  of  excite 
ment — 

"  Father  Ambrose  said  life  or  death  hung  upon  our  speed 
and  promptness ;  he  knew  not  the  short  interval  allowed  us. 
This  young  foreigner  is  innocent — the  real  murderer  is  dis 
covered.  On — ,  on,  for  mercy,  or  we  shall  be  too  late  ?" — 
gavt  his  horse  the  rein,  and  the  animal  started  off  at  full 
speed.  Perez  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant,  leaving  his  friend 
open-mouthed  with  astonishment,  and  retailing  the  marvel 
lous  news  into  twenty  different  quarters  in  as  many  seconds. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken ;  not  a  moment  did  the  fiery 
chargers  halt  in  their  headlong  way.  On,  on  they  went ; 
on,  over  wide  moors  and  craggy  steeps  5  on,  through  the 
rushing  torrent  and  the  precipitous  glen ;  on,  through  the 
forest  and  the  plain,  with  the  same  unwavering  pace.  Re 
peatedly  did  Marie's  brain  reel,  and  her  heart  grow  sick,  and 
her  limbs  lose  all  power  either  to  guide  or  feel ;  but  she 
neither  spoke  nor  flagged — convulsively  she  grasped  the 
reins,  and  closed  her  eyes,  as  the  voice  and  hand  of  her  com 
panion  urged  their  steeds  swifter  and  vet  swifter  on. 


192 

An  exclamation  from  Perez  roused  her.  The  turrets 
of  Segovia  were  visible  in  the  distance,  glittering  in  the 
brilliant  sun  ;  but  her  blood-shot  eye  turned  with  sickening 
earnestness  more  towards  the  latter  object  than  the  former. 
It  had  not  yet  attained  its  full  meridian — a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  perhaps  twenty  minutes,  was  still  before  them.  But 
the  strength  of  their  horses  was  nagging,  foam  covered  their 
glossy  hides,  their  nostrils  were  distended,  they  breathed 
hard,  and  frequently  snorted — the  short,  quick,  sound  of 
coming  powerlessness.  Their  steady  pace  wavered,  their 
heads  drooped  ;  but,  still  urged  on  by  Perez's  encouraging 
voice,  they  exerted  themselves  to  the  utmost — at  times  dart 
ing  several  paces  suddenly  forward,  then  stumbling  heavily 
on.  The  cold  dew  stood  on  Marie's  brow,  and  every  pulse 
seemed  stilled.  They  passed  the  outer  gates — they  stood 
on  the  brow  of  a  hill  commanding  a  view  of  the  whole  city. 
The  castle  seemed  but  a  stone's  throw  from  them ;  but  the 
sound  of  muffled  drums  and  other  martial  instruments  were 
borne  towards  them  on  the  air.  Multitudes  were  thronging 
in  one  direction ;  the  Calle  Soledad  seemed  one  mass  of  hu 
man  heads,  save  where  the  scaffold  raised  its  frightful  sign 
above  them.  Soldiers  were  advancing,  forming  a  thin,  glit 
tering  line  through  the  crowds.  In  their  centre  stood  the 
prisoner.  On,  again,  dashed  the  chargers — scarcely  a  hun 
dred  yards  separated  them  from  the  palace-gate.  Wildly 
Marie  glanced  back  once  more — there  were  figures  on  the 
scaffold.  And  at  that  moment — borne  in  the  stillness  more 
loudly,  more  heavily  than  usual,  or,  at  least,  so  it  seemed  tc 
her  tortured  senses — the  huge  bell  of  the  castle  chimed  the 
hour  of  noon  ! 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  193 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

"The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound, 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  harden'd  ground ; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near— 
The  very  deathsmen  pause  to  hear  !" 

Sra  WALTER  SCOTT. 

IN  liis  private  closet,  far  removed  from  the  excitement  stir 
ring  without.  King  Ferdinand  was  sitting,  on  the  morning 
appointed  for  Stanley's  execution :  several  maps  and  plans 
were  before  him,  over  which  he  appeared  intently  engaged  ; 
but  every  now  and  then  his  brow  rested  on  his  hand,  and  his 
eyes  wandered  from  their  object ;  Isabella  was  at  work  in  a 
recess  of  the  window  near  him,  conversing  on  his  warlike 
plans,  and  entering  warmly  into  all  his  measures,  as  he 
roused  himself  to  speak  of  them,  or  silent  when  she  saw  him 
gunk  in  thought.  The  history  of  the  period  dwells  with 
admiration  on  the  domestic  happiness  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,  and  most  refreshingly  do  such  annals  stand  forth 
amid  the  rude  and  stormy  scenes,  both  in  public  and  private 
life,  most  usual  to  that  age.  Isabella's  real  influence  on  the 
far  less  lofty  and  more  crafty  Ferdinand  was  so  silent,  so 
anobtrusive,  that  its  extent  was  never  known,  either  to  him 
self  or  to  her  people,  till  after  her  death,  when  in  Ferdinand's 
rapid  deterioration  from  the  nobler  qualities  of  earlier  years, 
it  was  traced  too  clearly,  and  occasioned  her  loss  to  be 
mourned,  yet  more  than  at  the  moment  of  her  death. 

The  hour  of  noon  chimed,  and  Ferdinand,  with  unusual 
emotion,  pushed  the  papers  from  him. 

"  There  goes  the  knell  of  as  brave  and  true  a  heart  as 
ever  beat,"  he  said.  "  If  he  be  innocent — as  I  believe  him 
— may  Heaven  forgive  his  murderer  !  Hark  !  what  is  that?" 
he  continued  hurriedly,  as  the  last  chime  ceased  to  vibrate ; 
and,  striding  to  the  door  of  his  cabinet  he  flung  it  open  and 
listened  intently. 

"  Some  one  seeks  the  King  !  follow  me,  Isabel.  By  St. 
Francis,  we  may  save  him  yet !"  he  exclaimed,  and  rapidly 
9 


194  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

threading  the  numerous  passages,  in  less  than  a  minute  lie 
stood  within  the  hall. 

"  Who  wills  speech  of  Ferdinand  ?"  he  demanded.  "  Let 
him  step  forth  at  once  and  do  his  errand." 

"  I  seek  thee,  King  of  Spain  !"  was  the  instant  answer, 
and  a  young  lad  in  the  white  garb  of  a  Benedictine  novice, 
staggered  forwards.  "  Arthur  Stanley  is  innocent !  The 
real  murderer  is  discovered ;  he  lies  at  the  point  of  death 
sixty  miles  hence.  Send — take  his  confession  ;  but  do  not 
wait  for  that.  Fly.  or  it  is  too  late.  I  see  it — the  axe  is 
raised — is  flashing  in  the  sun  ;  oh,  stop  it  ere  it  falls  !"  And 
with  the  wild  effort  to  loose  the  grasp  of  an  old  soldier,  who 
more  supported  than  detained  him,  his  exhausted  strength 
gave  way,  and  they  laid  him,  white,  stiff,  and  speechless,  on 
a  settle  near. 

With  his  first  word,  however,  Ferdinand  had  turned  to  a 
trusty  soldier,  and  bade  him  "  fly  to  stop  the  work  of  death  ;" 
and  the  man  needed  not  a  second  bidding  :  he  darted  from 
the  hall,  flew  through  the  castle-yard,  repeated  the  words  to 
the  first  individual  he  met,  by  whom  it  was  repeated  to 
another,  and  by  him  again  on  and  on  till  it  reached  the 
crowds  around  the  scaffold  ;  where  it  spread  like  wild-fire 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  reaching  the  ear  of  Don  Felix,  even 
before  his  eye  caught  the  rapidly  advancing  soldier,  whom 
he  recognized  at  once  as  one  of  his  Sovereign's  private 
guards  ;  impelling  him,  with  an  almost  instinctive  movement, 
to  catch  the  upraised  arm  of  the  executioner  at  the  very 
instant  he  was  about  to  strike. 

"  Wherefore  this  delay,  Don  Felix  ?  it  is  but  a  cruel 
mercy,"  sternly  inquired  the  Chief  Hermano,  whose  office 
had  led  him  also  to  the  scaffold. 

"  Behold,  and  listen  :  praised  be  the  holy  saints,  he  is 
saved  !"  was  the  rapid  reply,  as  the  voice  of  the  soldier  close 
by  the  foot  of  the  scaffold,  was  distinguished  bidding  them 
"  Hold  !  hold  !  the  King  commands  it.  He  is  innocent ;  the 
real  murderer  is  discovered  !"  and  then  followed  a  shout,  so 
loud,  so  exulting,  that  it  seemed  to  have  burst  from  those 
assembled  hundreds  at  the  same  instant.  The  prisoner 
heard  it,  indeed  ;  but  to  his  bewildered  senses — taking  the 
place  as  it  did  of  the  expected  blow — it  was  so  utterly 
meaningless  that  he  neither  moved  nor  spoke  ;  and  even  Don 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  195 

Felix's  friendly  voice  charging  him — "  Up,  Stanley  !  up,  man  ! 
thou  art  saved — thine  innocence  made  known  !"  failed  to 
convince  him  of  the  truth.  He  rose  from  his  knees  ;  but  his 
limbs  shook,  and  his  face — which  had  changed  neither  hue 
nor  expression  when  he  had  knelt  for  the  fatal  blow — was 
colorless  as  marble.  He  laid  his  trembling  hand  on  Father 
Francis's  arm,  and  tried  to  speak,  but  he  could  not  utter  a 
sound. 

"  'Tis  true,  my  beloved  son :  thy  sinful  thoughts  have 
been  sufficiently  chastised ;  and  the  mercy  of  Heaven  pub 
licly  revealed.  Our  prayers  have  not  been  said  in  vain  5 
thine  innocence  is  known — the  guilty  one  discovered  !" 

To  doubt  these  solemn  accents  was  impossible,  and  though 
the  effort  was  mighty  to  prevent  it,  Nature  would  have 
sway,  and  Stanley  laid  his  head  on  the  Prior's  arm,  and 
burst  into  tears.  And  the  wild  shout  that  again  awoke, 
seemed  to  clarion  forth  a  thrilling  denial  to  the  charge  of 
weakness,  which  on  such  openly  demonstrated  emotion,  some 
hearts  dead  to  the  voice  of  Nature  might  have  pronounced. 

King  Ferdinand  had  not  been  idle  while  this  exciting 
scene  was  enacting ;  questioning  briefly  but  distinctly  the 
villager  who  had  accompanied  the  novice ;  the  latter  still 
remaining  in  a  state  of  exhaustion  precluding  all  inquiries 
from  him.  Perez,  however,  could  only  repeat  the  lad's 
words  when  informed  that  the  execution  of  Senor  Stanley 
was  to  take  place  that  day.  Father  Ambrose  had  merely 
told  him  that  he  (Perez)  had  rendered  a  most  important 
service  to  more  than  one  individual  by  his  compassionate  care 
of  the  dying  man,  whose  desire  to  communicate  with  the  King 
was  no  idle  raving.  He  had  also  charged  him  to  take  par 
ticular  care  of  the  young  novice,  who  was  ailing  and  weakly  ; 
that  the  emergency  of  the  present  case  alone  had  compelled 
him  to  send  the  lad  to  Segovia,  as  his  dress  and  ability,  might 
gain  him  a  quicker  admission  to  the  King  or  Queen,  than 
the  rude  appearance  and  uncouth  dialect  of  his  companion. 
The  father  had  also  requested  him  to  urge  the  officers,  whom 
the  King  might  send  to  take  the  dying  man's  confession,  to 
travel  at  their  utmost  speed,  for  he  thought  death  was  ap 
proaching  fast. 

With  his  usual  rapidity  of  thought  and  decision,  Ferdi 
nand's  orders  were  given  and  so  quickly  obeyed,  that  even 


195  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS', 

before  the  arrival  of  the  Sub-Prior  and  Don  Felix  with  the 
released  prisoner,  a  band  of  men,  headed  by  Don  Alonzo  and 
two  of  the  chief  officers  of  the  Santa  Hermandad,  had  already 
started  for  the  village.  The  King  still  retained  Perez,  not  only 
to  reward  him  liberally,  but  that  his  tale  might  be  repeated 
to  the  proper  authorities,  and  compared  with  that  of  the  no 
vice,  as  soon  as  he  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  give  it.  The 
entrance  of  Stanley  effectually  prevented  his  giving  more  than 
a  pitying  glance  towards  the  poor  boy,  who  had  been  raised 
on  one  of  the  benches,  surrounded  by  the  soldiers,  who  were 
doing  all  their  rude  kindness  suggested  to  revive  him. 

Isabella  had  followed  her  husband  to  the  hall,  and  been  a 
quiet  but  penetrative  observer  of  all  that  followed.  She  had 
started  as-  the  voice  of  the  novice  met  her  ear,  and  made  a 
few  Vasty  steps  forward  ;  but  then  checked  herself,  and  qui 
etly  watched  the*"  proceedings  of  the  soldiers.  Perceiving  how 
wholly  ineffectual  their  efforts  appeared,  she  advanced  to 
wards  them.  With  the  most  reverential  affection  the  men 
made  way  for  her.  They  had  been  so  accustomed  to  see  her 
on  the  battle-field,  tending  the  wounded  and  the  dying,  sooth 
ing  their  anguish  and  removing  their  cares,  ay,  and  more 
than  once  doing  the  same  kindly  office  in  their  rude  and  lowly 
domes,  that  her  appearance  and  gentle  tending  of  the  boy, 
excited  no  surprise  whatever.  She  motioned  them  all  back, 
apparently  to  allow  a  free  current  of  air — in  reality,  to  pre 
vent  them  from  adopting  her  own  suspicions  ;  she  did  not  re 
move  the  somewhat  unusually  tightly-secured  hood  ;  but  for 
her,  one  glance  on  that  white  and  chiselled  face  was  suffi 
cient.  Her  skill  was  at  length  successful,  and  with  the  first 
symptom  of  returning  animation,  she  left  him  to  the  soldiers, 
and  joined  the  throng  around  the  King ;  but  her  eye,  which 
from  long  use,  appeared  literally  endowed  with  power  to  take 
in  every  desired  object,  however  separated,  at  one  glance,  still 
watched  him  as  he  painfully  endeavored  to  rise,  and  threw 
one  searching  glance  towards  the  principal  group.  His  eyes 
rested  a  full  minute  on  the  prisoner,  with  an  expression  which 
Isabella  alone,  perhaps,  of  all  in  that  hall,  could  read.  A 
momentary  crimson  flushed  his  cheek,  and  then  his  face  was 
bowed  in  his  spread  hands,  and  his  slight  frame  shook,  with 
the  fervor  of  the  thanksgiving,  which  his  whole  soul  out* 
poured. 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  197 

Perceiving  that  the  lad  had  recovered  his  senses,  Perez 
referred  all  the  eager  questioners  to  him,  feeling  so  bewil 
dered  at  the  marvellous  transformation  of  himself,  in  his  own 
opinion,  from  an  ignorant  rustic,  who  had  never  seen  the  in 
terior  of  a  town,  to  the  permitted  companion  of  his  sovereign 
and  his  nobles,  and  even  of  Isabella,  and  he  received  from 
her  lijs  a  few  words  of  kindly  commendation,  that  it  was  al 
most  an  effort  to  speak ;  and  he  longed  to  rush  back  to  his 
village  and  astound  them  all,  and  still  more,  triumph  over 
his  friend,  the  hostellerie-keeper,  who,  lord  it  as  he  might, 
had  never  been  so  honored. 

"  Come  hither,  boy,"  said  Ferdinand  kindly ;  and  whe  no 
vice  slowly  and  with  evident  reluctance  obeyed.  "  We  could 
almost  wish  thy  tastes  had  pointed  elsewhere  than  the  church, 
that  our  acknowledgments  of  thy  exertions  in  our  service 
might  be  more  substantial  than  mere  thanks ;  however,  thy 
patron  saint  shall  not  want  a  grateful  offering.  Nay,  our 
presence  is  surely  not  so  terrible  that  thou  shouldst  tremble 
thus,  poor  child  !  Hast  thou  aught  more  to  communicate  ? — 
aught  for  our  private  ear,  or  that  of  her  Highness  our  con 
sort  ?  If  not,  we  will  not  exhaust  thy  little  strength  by  use 
less  questions." 

In  a  tone  so  low  and  faltering,  that  Ferdinand  was  oblig 
ed  to  bend  down  his  head  to  hear,  the  novice  replied,  that  if 
messengers  had  been  despatched  to  the  village,  his  errand 
was  sufficiently  accomplished.  Father  Ambrose  had  merely 
charged  him  to  say  that  the  real  murderer  had  himself  con 
fessed  his  crime,  and  that  the  sin  had  been  incited,  by  such 
a  horrible  train  of  secret  guilt,  that  all  particulars  were  de 
ferred  till  they  could  be  imparted  to  the  authorities  of  jus 
tice,  and  by  them  to  the  sovereigns  themselves.  For  him 
self  he  only  asked  permission  to  return  to  the  village  with 
Perez,  and  rejoin  his  guardian,  Father  Ambrose,  as  soon  as 
his  Grace  would  please  to  dismiss  him. 

"  Thou  must  not — shalt  not — return  Without  my  poor 
thanks,  my  young  preserver,"  exclaimed  Stanley,  with  emo 
tion.  "  Had  it  not  been  for  exertions  which  have  well  nigh 
exhausted  thee,  exertions  as  gratuitous  as  noble — for  what 
am  I  to  thee  ?— my  honor  might  have  been  saved  indeed,  but 
my  life  would  have  paid  a  felon's  forfeit.  Would  that  I  could 
serve  thee — thou  shouldst  not  find  me  ungrateful !  Give  me 


198 

thine  hand,  at  least,  as  pledge  that  shouldst  thou  ever  need 
me — if  not  for  thyself,  for  others — thou  wilt  seek  me  without 
scruple. 

The  boy  laid  his  hand  on  Stanley's  without  hesitation, 
but  without  speaking ;  he  merely  raised  his  heavy  eyes  a 
moment  to  his  face,  and  vainly  did  Stanley  endeavor  to  ac 
count  for  the  thrill  which  shot  through  his  heart  so  suddenly 
as  almost  to  take  away  his  breath,  as  he  felt  the  soft  touch 
of  that  little  hand  and  met  that  momentary  glance. 

Who  has  not  felt  the  extraordinary  power  of  a  tone — A 
look — a  touch  ?  which, 

"  Touching  th'  electric  chain,  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound," 

fills  the  heart  and  mind  with  irresistible  impulses,  engrossing 
thoughts,  and  startling  memories,  all  denned  and  united,  and 
yet  lasting  for  so  brie-f  a  moment  that  we  are  scarcely  able  to 
realize  their  existence  ere  they  are  gone — and  so  completely, 
that  we  perplex  ourselves  again  and  again  with  the  vain  ef 
fort  to  recall  their  subject  or  their  meaning.  And  so  it  was 
with  Stanley.  The  thrill  passed  and  he  could  not  even  trace 
its  origin  or  flitting  thought ;  he  only  saw  a  Benedictine  no 
vice  before  him  ;  he  only  felt  regret  that  there  was  no  appa 
rent  means  with  which  he  could  evince  his  gratitude. 

On  Father  Francis  offering  to  take  charge  of  the  boy,  till 
his  strength  was  sufficiently  renovated  to  permit  his  safe  re 
turn  to  the  village,  Isabella  spoke,  for  the  first  time  : — 

"  Reverend  Father  !  We  will  ourselves  take  charge  of 
this  poor  child.  There  are  some  questions  we  would  fain  in 
quire,  ere  we  can  permit  his  return  to  his  guardian  :  if  satis 
factorily  answered,  a  munificent  gift  to  his  patron  saint  shall 
demonstrate,  how  deeply  we  feel  the  exertions  he  has  made  ; 
and  if  we  can  serve  him  better  than  merely  allowing  his  re 
turn  to  his  monastery,  trust  me  we  shall  not  fail.  Follow  me, 
youth  !"  she  continued,  as  the  Sub-Prior  and  the  King, 
though  surprised  at  her  words,  acquiesced.  The  novice 
shrunk  back  and  clung  to  the  side  of  Perez,  as  if  most  un 
willing  to  comply ;  but  neither  the  command,  nor  the  look, 
with  which  it  was  enforced  could  be  disobeyed,  and  slowly 
and  falteringly  he  followed  Isabella  from  the  hall. 


OR,   THE    MARTYR,  199 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Tis  done  !  and  so  she  droops.    Oh,  woman-heart! 
How  bold  and  brave  to  do  thy  destined  part ! 
Thro'  sorrow's  waves  press  firmly,  calmly  on, 
And  pause  not,  sink  not,  till  the  goal  is  won ! 

MS. 

NOT  a  word  passed  between  them,  until  they  had  reached 
Isabella's  private  cabinet ;  and  even  then  the  Queen — though 
she  seated  herself  and  signed  to  the  boy  to  stand  before  her, 
as  desirous  of  addressing  him — asked  not  a  question,  but 
fixed  her  penetrating  eyes  on  his  pallid  features,  with  a  look 
in  which  severity  was  very  evidently  struggling,  with  com 
miseration  and  regard.  To  attempt  to  retain  disguise  was 
useless ;  Marie  flung  aside  the  shrouding  hood,  and  sinking 
down  at  the  Queen's  feet,  buried  her  face  in  her  robe,  and 
murmured  in  strong  emotion — 

"  Gracious  Sovereign — mercy  !" 

"Again  wouldst  thou  deceive,  again  impose  upon  me, 
Marie?  What  am  I  to  think  of  conduct  mysterious  as 
thine?  Wherefore  fly  from  my  protection — reject  with  in 
gratitude  the  kindness  I  would  have  proffered — mistrust  the 
interest  which  thou  hadst  already  proved,  and  then  return  as 
now?  I  promised  forgiveness,  and  continuation  of  regard, 
if  the  truth  were  revealed  and  mystery  banished,  and  darker 
than  ever  has  thy  conduct  drawn  the  veil  around  thee.  What 
urged  thy  flight,  and  wherefore  this  disguise  ?  Speak  out, 
and  truthfully ;  we  will  be  tampered  with  no  longer  !" 

But  Marie  vainly  tried  to  obey ;  her  brain  was  burning  ; 
the  rapid  ride,  the  sudden  transition,  from  the  sickening 
horror  of  being  too  late,  to  the  assurance  of  Stanley's  safety, 
the  thought  that  she  had  indeed  parted  from  him  for  ever, 
and  now  Isabella's  evident  anger,  when  her  woman-heart 
turned  to  her  as  a  child's  to  its  mother's,  yearning  for  that 
gentle  sympathy  which,  at  such  a  moment,  could  alone  have 
soothed.  Words  seemed  choked  within  her,  and  the  effort 
to  speak  produced  only  sobs.  Isabella's  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 


200 

"  Speak,"  she  said,  more  gently ;  "  Marie— say  only  why 
thou  didst  fly  me,  when  I  had  given  no  evidence,  that  the 
boon  thou  didst  implore  me  to  grant,  had  become,  by  thy 
strange  confession,  null  and  void.  What  urged  thy  flight  ?" 

<;  Not  my  own  will.  Oh,  no— no,  gracious  Sovereign  ;  I 
would  have  remained  a  contented  prisoner  with  thee,  but 
they  bore  me  away  to  such  scenes  and  sounds  of  horror  that 
their  very  memory  burns  my  brain.  Oh,  madam  !  do  with 
me  what  thou  wilt,  but  condemn  me  not  to  return  to  that 
fearful  place  again.  Death,  death  itself — ay,  even  such  a 
death  as  Arthur  has  escaped — were  mercy  in  its  stead  I" 

"  Of  what  speakest  thou,  Marie  ?  Who  could  have  dared 
bear  thee  from  our  protection  without  thine  own  free  will  ? 
Thy  mind  has  been  overwrought  and  is  bewildered  still ;  we 
have  been  harsh,  perchance,  to  urge  thee  to  speak  now: 
repose  may " 

i:  Repose  !  Oh,  no — no  ;  let  me  remain  with  thee  !"  she 
sobbed,  as  forgetful  of  either  state  or  form,  her  head  sunk 
on  Isabella's  knee.  "  He  has  borne  me  from  your  highness' 
power  once  ;  he  can,  he  may,  I  know  he  will  again.  Oh,  savo 
me  from  him  !  It  was  not  because  of  my  faith  he  bore  me 
there,  and  tempted  and  tortured  and  laughed  at  my  agony ; 
he  taunted  me  with  his  power  to  wreak  the  vengeance  of  a 
baffled  passion  upon  me — for,  as  a  Jewess,  who  would  protect 
me  ?  Oh,  mighty  Sovereign !  send  me  not  from  thy  pre 
sence.  Don  Luis  will  take  me  from  thy  very  roof  again." 

"  Don  Luis !"  repeated  Isabella,  more  and  more  convinc 
ed  that  Marie's  sufferings  had  injured  her  brain.  "  What 
power  can  he  have,  so  secret  and  so  terrible  ?  Marie,  thou 
ravest !" 

"  Do  I  rave  ?"  replied  the  unhappy  girl,  raising  her  right 
hand  to  her  throbbing  brow.  "  It  may  be  so  ;  perhaps  it  has 
all  been  a  dream — a  wild  and  fearful  dream  ! — and  I  am 
awakened  from  it  now  ;  and  yet — yet  how  can  it  be  ;  how 
came  my  arm  thus  if  it  had  not  been  reality — horrible,  ago 
nizing  reality  !"  And  as  she  spoke  she  removed  the  cover 
ing  from  her  left  arm.  Painfully  Isabella  started :  the 
beautiful  limb  hung  powerless  from  wrist  to  shoulder,  a  dry 
and  scorched  and  shrievelled  bone. 

"And  couldst  thou  think  thy  Sovereign  would  ordain, 
or  even  permit,  such  suffering  ?"  she  exclaimed,  after  a 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  201 

moment's  pause,  passing  her  arm  fondly  round  Marie,  whom 
she  had  raised  from  the  ground  to  a  cushion  by  her  side. 
"  My  poor  unhappy  child,  what  is  this  dark  mystery  ?  Who 
can  have  dared  to  injure  thee,  and  call  it  justice,  zeal — 
religion,  perchance  !  Mother  of  Mercy  !  pardon  the  profana 
tion  of  the  word !  Try  and  collect  thy  thoughts,  and  tell 
me  all.  Who  has  dared  thus  insult  our  power  ?" 

"  Don  Luis  ! — Don  Luis  ! '  repeated  Marie,  clinging  like 
an  infant  to  the  Queen,  and  shuddering  with  terror  at  the 
very  recollection  of  a  power  which  she  had  faced  so  calmly. 
"  Oh,  save  me  from  him  !  torture  itself  I  could  bear,  but  not 
his  words." 

"Den  Luis  !"  reiterated  the  astonished  Queen.  "What 
has  he  to  do  with  torture  ?  Who  is  he — what  is  he,  my  poor 
child,  that  his  very  name  should  thus  appal  thee  ?  He  may 
indeed  have  dared  speak  insulting  words,  but  what  power 
has  he  thus  fearfully  to  wreak  his  vengeance  ?" 

"Who  is  he — what  is  he?"  repeated  Marie,  looking  with 
surprise  in  the  Queen's  pitying  face.  "  Does  not  your  high 
ness  know — and  yet  how  shouldst  thou  ? — his  very  office  is 
as  secret  as  his  own  black  nature?  Has  your  highness  never 
heard  men  whisper  of  a  secret  Inquisition,  hiding  itself  even 
in  thy  domains  ?  Oh,  my  Sovereign,  it  was  there  they 
dragged  me !  [her  voice  sunk  to  a  low  shuddering  whisper] 
and  he  was  grand  master  there  ;  he — even  Don  Luis  !  And 
he  will  bear  me  there  again.  Oh,  save  me  from  those  fearful 
sounds — those  horrid  sights  :  they  glare  before  me  now  !" 

"  And  I  will  save  thee,  my  child  !  ay,  and  root  out  these 
midnight  horrors  from  my  kingdom,"  exclaimed  Isabella, 
indignation  flashing  in  her  eye,  and  flushing  on  her  cheek. 
"  Once  we  have  been  insulted — once  deceived  ;  but  never  to 
us  can  such  occur  a  second  time.  Fearfully  shall  this  deed 
of  infamy  recoil  upon  its  perpetrators !  Tremble  not  thus, 
my  poor  girl,  no  one  shall  injure  thee  ;  no  one  can  touch 
thee,  for  we  are  warned,  and  this  fearful  tale  shall  be  sifted 
to  the  bottom  !  Child  of  a  reprobate  faith,  and  outcast  race 
as  thou  art,  thinkest  thou  that  even  to  thee  Isabella  would 
permit  injury  and  injustice?  If  we  love  thee  too  well,  may 
we  be  forgiven,  but  cared  for  thou  shalt  be ;  ay,  so  cared  for, 
that  there  shall  be  joy  on  earth,  and  in  heaven  for  thee  yet !" 

At  another  moment,  those  words  would  have  been  under  - 
9* 


202  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARSJ 

stood  in  their  real  meaning ;  but  Marie  could  then  only  feel 
the  consoling  conviction  of  security  and  love.  It  was  not 
merely  personal  kindness  which  had  so  bound  her  to  her 
Sovereign ;  it  was  the  unacknowledged  but  felt  conviction, 
that  Isabella  had  penetrated  her  secret  feelings,  with  regard 
to  Arthur  Stanley ;  and  yet  not  a  syllable  of  this  had  ever 
passed  the  Queen's  lips.  Oh,  true  sympathy  seldom  needs 
expression,  for  its  full  consolation  to  be  given  and  received ! 
The  heart  recognizes  intuitively  a  kindred  heart,  and  turns 
to  it  in  its  sorrow  or  its  joy,  conscious  of  finding  in  it,  repose 
from  itself.  But  only  a  woman  can  give  to  woman  this  per 
fect  sympathy ;  for  the  deepest  recesses,  the  hidden  sources 
of  anguish  in  the  female  heart  no  man  can  read. 

Engrossed  as  Isabella  was  by  the  mysterious  information 
imparted  by  Marie,  indefinitely  yet  forcibly  confirmed  by 
her,  then  unusual,  knowledge  of  the  past  history  of  Spain, 
she  was  more  easily  satisfied  with  Marie's  hurried  and  hesi 
tating  account  of  her  escape,  than  she  might  otherwise  have 
been.  To  proclaim  her  relationship  with  Father  Ambrose 
was  ruin  to  him  at  once.  He  had  been  one,  she  said  with 
truth,  who  had  received  great  obligations  from  her  family, 
and  had  vowed  to  return  them  whenever  it  should  be  in  his 
power  so  to  do  |  he  had,  therefore,  made  the  exertion  to  save 
her,  and  was  about  taking  her  to  her  childhood's  home  on 
the  frontiers  of  Castile,  the  only  place,  it  appeared  to  him, 
sufficiently  secret  to  conceal  her  from  Don  Luis's  thousand 
spies ;  but  that  on  the  providential  discovery  of  the  real 
murderer,  and  the  seeming  impossibility  of  ever  seeing  the 
King  himself  in  time — she  paused. 

"  Could  he  send  thee  on  such  a  rapid  errand,  my  child, 
and  suffering  thus  ?"  gently  inquired  Isabella. 

"  No,  gracious  madam,"  was  the  unhesitating  rejoinder, 
though  a  burning  blush  mounted  to  her  very  temples ;  "  it 
was  my  own  voluntary  choice.  It  was  my  unhappy  fate  to 
have  been  the  actual  cause  of  his  arraignment ;  it  was  but 
my  duty  to  save  him  if  I  could." 

"  And  thou  wouldst  have  returned  with  Perez  had  we  not 
penetrated  thy  disguise  ?" 

"  Yes,  gracious  Sovereign."  And  the  flush  faded  into 
paleness,  ashy  as  before  ;  but  the  tone  was  calm  and  firm. 

The  Queen  looked  at  her  intently,  but  made  no  further 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  203 

observation ;  and  speedily  summoning  her  before  trusted  at 
tendants,  placed  the  widow  of  Morales  once  more  in  their 
charge  ;  imparted  to  them  as  much  of  Marie's  tale  as  she 
deemed  requisite,  and  the  consequent  necessity  for  her  re 
turn  to  the  Queen's  care  ;  nay,  her  very  existence  was  to  be 
kept  secret  from  all  save  those  to  whom  she  herself  should 
choose  to  impart  it.  Gratified  by  her  confidence,  they  were 
eager  to  obey ;  and  so  skilfully  did  they  enter  into  her  wishes, 
that  their  very  companions  suspected  not  the  identity  of  the 
prisoner,  in  whom,  they  were  told,  their  Sovereign  was  so 
much  interested.  Curiosity  might  have  been  busy  with  very 
many,  but  their  vague  conjectures  fell  far  short  of  the  truth ; 
Catharine  Pas  was  the  only  one  of  Isabella's  younger  maid 
ens  to  whom  the  real  fact  was  imparted. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

'Twas  a  dark  tale  of  crime,  and  awed  and  chilled 

E'en  indignation  seeming  horror  still'd, 

Men  stood  beside  a  murd'rer's  couch  of  death, 

Watching  the  glazing  eye  and  flickering  breath — 

Speaking  with  look  and  hurried  sign  alone, 

Their  thoughts,  too  terror-fraught  for  word  or  tone. — MS. 

THE  indignation  excited  in  the  Queen's  mind  against  Don 
Louis  was  destined,  very  speedily,  to  be  increased.  Ferdi 
nand  had  had  time  to  become  half  angry,  and  quite  impa 
tient,  ere  his  messengers  dispatched  to  the  village  returned. 
Stanley  had  been  released — was  regarded  by  all  as  innocent; 
but  this  was  literally  only  from  a  peasant's  word  and  the 
half  broken  intelligence  of  an  exhausted  boy :  he  wanted 
proof,  and  a  vague  dread  would  take  possession  of  him  that  his 
fate  was  but  temporarily  suspended.  At  an  early  hour  the 
next  day,  however,  Don  Alonzo  returned ;  and  Ferdinand's  im 
patient  anger  was  averted,  when  he  found  the  delay  had  been 
occasioned  by  their  determination,  to  convey  the  dying  man 
to  Segovia,  and  the  caution  necessary  for  its  accomplishment. 
The  Hermanos  had  already  noted  down  his  confession ;  but 


204 

it  was  so  fraught  with  extended  and  dangerous  consequences, 
that  they  felt,  they  dared  not  act  on  their  responsibility :  all 
suppressing  measures  must  proceed  from  the  sovereigns 
themselves.  Perez  was  again  summoned,  and  at  once  swore 
to  the  identity  of  the  dying  man  as  the  individual  he  had 
rescued  from  a  deep  pit,  in  a  lonely  mountain-pass,  about 
twenty  miles  from  his  village ;  and  the  man,  whose  eagerness 
to  speak  was  evident,  though  his  voice  was  so  faint,  as 
scarcely  to  be  intelligible,  commenced  his  dark  and  terri 
ble  tale. 

The  indignation  of  the  Sovereign,  and  of  those  whom  he 
had  chosen  to  be  present,  was  excited  to  the  utmost,  mingled 
with  horror  as  the  mysterious  fates  of  many  a  loved  compa 
nion  were  thus  so  fearfully  solved ;  but  none  felt  the  recital 
with  the  same  intensity  of  emotion  as  the  Sub-Prior,  who, 
with  head  bowed  down  upon  his  breast,  and  hands  tightly 
clenched,  knelt  beside  the  penitent.  It  was  not  indignation, 
it  was  not  horror  ;  but  agony  of  spirit  that  a  religion  which 
he  loved  better  than  himself,  whose  purity  and  honor  he 
would  have  so  jealously  guarded,  that  he  would  have  sacri 
ficed  life  itself  for  its  service,  should  have  been  made  the  co 
ver  for  such  unutterable  villany.  Few  imagined  the  deeds 
of  painful  mortification  and  bodily  penance  which,  in  his  so 
litude,  the  Sub-Prior  afterwards  inflicted  on  himself;  as  if 
his  individual  sufferings  should  atone  for  the  guilt  of  his 
brethren,  and  turn  from  them  the  wrath  of  an  avenging 
God. 

Horrible  as  were  the  details  imparted,  incomprehensible 
as  it  seemed  that  so  extended  and  well-organized  a  power, 
should  exist  so  secretly  throughout  Spain,  as  to  hide  itself 
even  from  the  sovereigns  and  ministers  of  justice  themselves, 
yet  none  doubted  what  they  heard.  Sovereigns  and  nobles 
well  knew  that  the  Inquisition  had  been  established  both  in 
Castile  and  Arragon  centuries  before,  and  that  the  annals  of 
those  kingdoms,  though  mentioning  the  resistance  of  the 
people  against  this  awful  power,  had  been  silent  as  to  its  en 
tire  extirpation. 

In  the  first  part  of  his  narrative  the  man  had  spoken 
shrinkingly  and  fearfully,  as  if  still  in  dread  of  vengeance 
on  his  betrayal ;  but  his  voice  became  bolder  when  he  con 
fessed  his  own  share  in  the  late  atrocious  crime.  Accn« 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  205 

tomed  by  the  strictest  and  most  rigid  training,  to  obey  as 
familiars,  the  will  of  their  superiors  without  question — to  be 
mere  mindless  and  feelingless  tools,  to  whom  death  itself  was 
awarded,  if  by  word  or  hint,  or  even  sign,  they  dared  evince 
themselves  to  be  as  other  men — he  had,  at  the  command  of 
the  Grand  Inquisitor,  deeply  drugged  Senor  Stanley's  even 
ing  draught,  and,  while  under  its  potent  influence,  had  pur 
loined  his  sword  ;  waylaid  Don  Ferdinand  in  the  Calle  Sole- 
dad,  effectually  done  the  deed,  and — aware  that  it  would  be 
many  hours  ere  the  English  Senor  could  arouse  himself  from 
the  stupifying  effects  of  the  draught — had  intended  return- 
mg  to  his  chamber  still  more  effectually  to  throw  on  h/m  the 
suspicion  of  the  murder.  It  happened,  however,  that  it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  chosen  by  his  superiors  as 
their  tool  for  actual  murder,  and  the  magnitude  of  the  crime, 
from  the  greatness  of,  and  universal  love  borne  towards  the 
victim,  had  so  appalled  him,  that,  combined  with  the  raging 
storm  and  pitchy  darkness,  he  had  felt  utterly  bewildered. 
Not  well  acquainted  with  Segovia,  he  had  found  himself, 
after  more  than  an  hour's  wandering — instead  of,  as  he  ex 
pected,  again  near  the  Senor's  lodgings — in  the  self-same 
spot  whence  he  had  started,  and  close  by  the  body  of  his 
victim.  The  sight  horrified  and  bewildered  him  yet  more, 
and  he  crept  behind  a  low  wall,  resolved  on  remaining  there 
till  the  tempest  had  at  least  partially  subsided,  and  then  fulfil 
the  remainder  of  his  instructions  ;  knowing  that  to  fail  in 
any  one  point,  would  be  the  signal  of  his  own  destruction. 
Fortune,  however,  so  far  favored  him,  as  to  send*  the  young 
English  Senor  to  the  very  spot,  and  there  was  therefore  no 
occasion  for  his  further  interference.  He  tarried  till  he  had 
seen  Stanley's  arrest,  and  had  heard  the  loud  execrations  of 
all  proclaiming  him  the  murderer — and  then  returned  to  his 
employers. 

The  education  of  the  familiars  had  so  far  failed  with  him, 
that,  though  aware  of  its  danger,  thoughts  would  enter  his 
mind,  as  to  how  Don  Ferdinand  Morales  could  have  offended 
the  dread  power  which  he  served,  and  why  the  foreign  Senor 
should  be  thus  implicated  in  the  deed.  He  hoped  to  have 
concealed  these  doubts ;  but  from  the  issue,  he  imagined  that 
some  unguarded  word  spoken  to  a  companion,  must  have  be 
trayed  him.  He  was  chosen  by  the  Grand  Inquisitor  as  his 


206  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS  J 

companion,  on  some  secret  expedition  two  days  after  tho 
trial,  unsuspicious  of  the  danger  awaiting  him,  till  the  deso 
late  scene  on  which  they  unexpectedly  entered  flashed  terror 
on  his  mind.  His  superior  had  there  paused,  told  him  that 
from  the  witness  of  Beta,  the  servant  girl,  it  was  quite  evident 
he  had  disobeyed  part  of  the  instructions  given,  or  his  return 
to  Arthur's  lodgings  would  have  been  heard  by  her  as  well 
as  his  departure,  and  thus  at  once  have  implicated  the  Eng 
lishman  as  the  real  murderer;  that  though  chance  had 
thrown  equal  suspicion  upon  him,  it  did  net  remove  his  dis 
obedience,  and  so  he  was  doomed  to  death ;  and  the  blow,  in 
stantaneously  given,  felled  him  insensible  to  the  ground. 
When  he  recovered  his  senses,  he  found  himself  lying  in  a 
deep  pit,  where  he  had  evidently  been  thrown  as  dead.  The 
wounds  and  contusions  received  in  the  fall,  as  far  as  he  could 
recollect,  by  producing  a  most  excruciating  sense  of  pain, 
roused  him  from  temporary  insensibility,  and  he  was  con 
vinced  he  heard  his  murderer's  voice — though  he  could  not 
see  him — exclaim  distinctly,  as  if  he  were  leaning  over  the 
mouth  of  the  pit,  "  There  goes  my  last  doubt :  other  men 
might  call  it  their  last  fear,  but  I  know  not  the  word! 
Three  victims  for  the  possession  of  one — and  who  will  now 
dare  to  brand  me  ?  I  had  slain  that  faltering  craven  without 
his  disobedience,  he  dared  to  think  upon  his  deed." 

Almost  insensible  from  agony  as  he  was,  these  words  had 
impressed  themselves  indelibly ;  causing  the  burning  desire 
to  live  and  be  revenged.  And  the  opportune  succors  of  the 
villager,  Perez,  with  a  party  of  woodmen;  the  completely 
hidden  site  of  the  village  to  which  he  had  been  conveyed ; 
and  the.  at  first,  favorable  healing  of  his  wounds,  appeared 
to  give  him  every  hope  of  its  accomplishment.  He  had  re 
solved  on  communicating  his  tale  to  none  save  to  Ferdinand 
himself,  or  to  the  Chief  Hermano,  under  strict  promise  to 
reveal  it  to  the  Sovereign :  but  his  intense  anxiety  had  evi 
dently  prevented  the  attainment  of  his  desire,  by  producing 
fever ;  and  thence  arose  his  wild  and  almost  maniac  cravings 
to  make  confession,  and  bind  some  holy  monk,  by  a  solemn 
vow,  to  convey  it  to  the  King. 

It  was  not  till  the  conclusion  of  this  momentous  narra 
tion,  that  the   King  permitted  any  questions  to  be  asked  ;• 
and  those  he  then  demanded  were  so  concise  and  clear,  that 
at  few  words  were  needed  in  which  to  couch  the  reply. 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  207 

"  And  the  designer  of  this  hellish  plot,  the  real  murderer 
« — through  thy  hand,  of  one  brave  friend,  and  almost  another 
— is  the  same  who  has  murdered  thee  !"  he  inquired,  after 
learning  the  exact  sites  of  these  mysterious  halls ;  informa 
tion  which  caused  some  of  the  bravest  hearts  to  shudder, 
from  their  close  vicinity. 

The  man  answered  at  once  in  the  affirmative. 
"  And  he  dares  assume,  in  this  illegal  tribunal,  the  rank 
of  Grand  Inquisitor  ?" 
"  Ay,  gracious  liege." 

"  And  his  name  ? — that  by  which  he  is  known  to  man  ? 
Speak  !  And  as  thy  ..true  confession  may  be  the  means  of 
bringing  a  very  fiend  to  justice,  so  may  thy  share  in  his 
deeds  be  pardoned." 

An  indescribable  expression  passed  over  the  fast  stiffen 
ing  features  of  the  dying.  He  half  raised  himself,  and,  lay 
ing  hi§  clammy  hand  on  Ferdinand's  robe,  whispered,  in 
clear  and  thrilling  tones — 

"  Bend  low,  my  liege  ;  even  at  this  moment  I  dare  not 
speak  it  loud  ;  but,  oh  !  beware  of  those  who  affect  superior 
sanctity  to  their  fellows  :  there  is  one  who  in  the  sunshine 
stands  forth  wisest,  and  purest,  and  strictest ;  and  at  mid 
night  rules  arch-fiend — men  call  him  DON  Luis  GARCIA.  He 
is  Don  Ferdinand's  murderer  !  He  sought  Senor  Stanley's 
death  and  mine  ;  but  instead  of  a  victim,  he  has  found  an 
accuser  !  His  web  has  coiled  round  himself — flee  him  ! 
avoid  him  as  ye  would  a  walking  pestilence,  or  visible  de 
mon  !  Minister  as  he  may  be  of  our  holy  father,  the  Pope, 
he  is  a  villain — his  death  alone  can  bring  safety  to  Spain. 
Ha  !  what  is  this?  Mother  of  mercy  !  save  me !  The  cross ! 
the  cross  !  Absolution  !  The  flames  of  hell !  Father,  bid 

them  avaunt !     I a  true  confession."     The  words  were 

lost  in  a  fearful  gurgling  sound,  and  the  convulsion  which 
ensued  was  so  terrible,  that  some  of  the  very  bravest  involun 
tarily  turned  away ;  but  Stanley,  who  had  listened  to  the 
tale  with  emotions  too  varied  and  intense  for  speech,  now 
sprung  forward,  wildly  exclaiming — 

"  Three  victims  for  one  !  Where  is  that  one  ?  Speak — 
speak  in  mercy  !  Oh,  God  !  he  dies  and  says  no  word  !" 

The  eyes  of  the  dying  man  glared  on  him,  but  there  was 
no  meaning  in  their  gaze ;  they  rolled  in  their  sockets,  glazed, 
d  in  another  minute  all  was  stiff  in  death. 


THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS  j 


CHAPTER    XXIX, 

"  Doth  Heaven 

Woo  the  free  spirit  for  dishonored  breath 
To  sell  its  birthright  1    Doth  Heaven  set  a  price 
On  the  clear  jewel  of  unsullied  faith 
And  the  bright  calm  of  conscience  7" 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

A  PRIVATE  council  immediately  followed  the  confession  re 
ceived  ;  but  though  it  continued  many  hours,  no  active  mea 
sures  could  at  once  be  decided  upon.  Secret  and  illegal, 
according  to  Spanish  laws,  as  this  tribunal  was,  it  was  yet  an 
instrument  of  the  Pope,  acknowledging  his  supremacy  alone, 
and,  in  consequence,  always  receiving  his  protection.  Civil 
justice,  it  appeared,  could  not  reach  those  who  were  pro 
tected  by  the  head  of  the  church;  but  Ferdinand's  mind 
was  far  too  capacious  to  admit  this  plea.  Rooted  out  of 
his  dominions — in  its  present  form,  at  least — he  resolved  it 
should  be,  and  Isabella  confirmed  the  resolve.  Not  only  was 
its  secret  existence  fraught  with  the  most  awful  crimes  and 
injustice,  regarded  generally,  but  it  was  derogatory  and  insult 
ing  to  that  sovereign  power,  which  Ferdinand  and  Isabella 
had  both  determined  on  rendering  supreme.  Father  Francis, 
whose  usual  energy  of  thought  and  counsel  appeared  com 
pletely  annihilated  from  the  fearful  tale  he  had  heard,  stren 
uously  urged  the  sovereigns  to  wait  the  arrival  of  Torque- 
mada,  the  Queen's  confessor,  who  was  now  every  hour  ex 
pected,  and  whose  sterner  and  more  experienced  mind  would 
give  them  better  counsel.  To  this  both  sovereigns  agreed, 
but  one  measure  they  adopted  at  once.  As  Grand  Inquisi 
tor,  the  principal  actor  in  this  atrocious  drama  might  be  ser 
vant  of  and  solely  answerable  to  the  Pope ;  as  Don  Luis 
Garcia,  he  was  subject  to  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  as 
such  amenable  to  the  laws  of  Spain.  A  schedule  was  there 
fore  drawn  up,  stating  that  whereas  the  man  commonly 
known  as  Don  Luis  Garcia,  had  been  convicted  of  many 
atrocious  and  capital  crimes,  and,  amongst  the  gravest,  of 
having  instigated  and  commanded  the  murder  of  Don  Ferdi- 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  20$ 

nand  Morales,  and  done  to  death  his  own  tool,  the  real  com- 
mitter  of  the  deed,  that  Arthur  Stanley  might  be  charged 
with,  and  executed  for,  the  same ;  the  sovereigns  of  Spain 
called  upon  their  loving  subjects — of  every  rank  and  every 
degree,  in  all  and  every  part  of  the  realm — to  unite  in  en 
deavoring  to  discover,  and  deliver  up  the  said  Don  Luis 
Garcia,  to  the  rigor  of  the  law.  An  enormous  reward  was 
offered  for  delivering  him  alive  into  the  hands  of  justice, 
and  half  the  sum,  should  he  have  resisted  to  the  death.  The 
proclamation  was  made  by  sound  of  trumpet  in  various  parts 
of  Segovia,  and  copies  sent,  with  all  possible  speed,  to  every 
city,  town,  and  even  village,  over  Spain.  A  correct  descrip 
tion  of  his  person  accompanied  the  schedule,  and  every  pos 
sible  measure  was  adopted  that  could  tend  to  his  apprehen 
sion.  So  strong  was  the  popular  feeling  against  him  that 
every  class,  almost  every  individual,  felt  it  a  personal  duty 
to  assist,  in  this  case,  the  course  of  justice.  He  had  deceived 
all  men,  and  all  men  in  consequence  leagued  themselves 
against  him.  So  secretly,  and  yet  so  judiciously,  were  the 
plans  for  his  seizure  carried  on,  and  so  universal  the  popular 
ferment,  that  it  appeared  marvellous  how  he  could  have  es 
caped;  and  yet  weeks  merged  into  months,  and,  though  the 
measures  of  the  Santa  Herman  dad  in  no  way  relaxed,  Don 
Luis  was  still  at  large,  and  effectually  concealed.  We  may 
here  state  at  once — though  it  carries  us  much  in  advance  of 
our  present  scene — that  Father  Francis  resolved  at  all  costs 
to  purge  the  church  of  Spain  from  this  most  unholy  mem 
ber  ;  and,  authorized  by  the  sovereigns,  made  a  voluntary 
pilgrimage  to  the  court  of  St.  P'eter's,  obtained  an  audience 
with  the  Pope,  laid  the  case  before  him,  and  besought  the 
penalty  of  excommunication  to  be  fulminated  against  the 
hypocrite  who  had  dared  to  use,  as  cover  for  most  atrocious 
villany,  the  pure  and  sacred  ordinances  of  the  church.  Alex 
ander  the  Sixth,  himself  a  worker  of  such  awful  crimes  that 
he  was  little  capable  of  entering  into  the  pure  and  elevated 
character  of  the  Sub-Prior,  heard  him  calmly,  smiled  sneer- 
ingly,  and  then  informed  him,  he  was  too  late.  The  worthy 
and  zealous  servant  of  Rome,  known  to  men  as  Don  Luis 
Garcia,  had  been  before  him,  made  confession  of  certain 
passions  as  exciting  erring  deeds,  to  which  all  men  were 
liable,  had  done  penance,  received  absolution,  and  was  in  a 
fair  way  of  rising  to  the  highest  eminence  in  the  church. 


210 

Father  Francis  remonstrated,  urged,  dared  to  speak 
bolder  truths  than  had  ever  before  reached  the  papal  ear, 
but  all  without  effect :  and  this  truly  good  and  spiritual  man 
returned  to  Spain  stricken  to  the  dust.  He  reported  the 
failure  of  his  mission ;  heard,  with  bowed  head  and  aching 
soul,  the  natural  indignation  of  Ferdinand,  and  the  quieter, 
but  to  him,  still  more  expressive  sorrow,  at  this  fearful  abuse 
of  her  holy  religion  from  Isabella ;  and  then,  with  an  earn 
estness  impossible  to  be  resisted,  conjured  the  royal  permis 
sion  to  retire  entirely  from  all  interference  in  public  life. 
He  could  not,  he  said,  support  the  weight  of  shame,  which, 
falling  on  his  church,  had  affected  him  individually.  Vain 
were  the  royal  solicitations,  vain  the  love  of  the  people,  vain, 
the  entreaties  of  the  abbot  and  brethren  of  his  convent ;  he 
resigned  the  office  of  Sub-Prior,  relinquished  every  religious 
and  secular  honor,  and  buried  himself  in  the  most  impene 
trable  solitude,  fraught  with  austerity  and  mortification,  per 
sonal  penance,  and  yet  devoted  to  such  extraordinary  acquire 
ments,  that,  though  for  long  years  his  very  existence  was  well 
nigh  forgotten,  when  next  he  burst  upon  the  astonished  eyes 
of  the  world,  it  was  no  longer  as  Father  Francis,  the  Sub- 
Prior  of  a  Franciscan  monastery,  a  good  and  benevolent 
monk,  but  as  the  learned  priest,  the  sagacious  statesman,  the 
skilful  general,  ay,  and  gallant  warrior — the  great  and  good 
CARDINAL  XIMENES  ! 

To  wait  the  arrival  of  Torquemada,  the  sovereigns  and 
their  council  unanimously  resolved.  It  was  but  a  very  brief 
delay,  and  would  permit  a  more  effectual  extermination  of 
the  secret  office  than  could  be  decided  upon  by  the  laity 
alone.  Ere  the  day  closed,  and  in  presence  of  the  sovereigns, 
of  all  the  nobles,  officers  of  state,  the  Santa  Hermandad  and 
principal  citizens,  Arthur  Stanley  was  formally  pronounced 
INNOCENT  of  the  crime  with  which  he  had  been  charged.  The 
golden  spurs,  which  had  been  ignominiously  hacked  from  his 
heels,  were  replaced  by  the  aged  Duke  of  Murcia ;  knight 
hood  again  bestowed  by  the  King  j  and  Isabella's  own  hand, 
with  winning  courtesy,  presented  him  a  sword,  whose  real 
Toledo  blade,  and  richly  jewelled  hilt,  should  replace  the 
valued  weapon,  the  loss  of  which  had  caused  him  such  un 
merited  suffering,  and  shame. 

"  May  it  be  used  for  us,  as  faithfully  and  nobly  as  its 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  211 

predecessor,"  were  Isabella's  concluding  words ;  "  and  its  as 
sociations,  Senor  Stanley,  be  nought  but  those  of  joy." 

The  young  man's  cheek  burned,  but  there  was  a  deep 
shadow  on  his  countenance,  which  neither  the  honors  he  re 
ceived,  nor  his  own  urgent  efforts  had  power  to  remove.  He 
looked  wistfully  after  the  sovereigns  as  they  quitted  the 
church,  then  with  an  irresistible  impulse,  broke  from  the 
throng  with  whom  he  had  been  endeavoing  to  join  in  ani 
mated  converse,  and,  suddenly  kneeling  before  Isabella,  ex 
claimed  in  low,  agitated  tones — 

«  She — she  may  still  be  in  the  villain's  power.  Oh,  my 
liege,  wait  not  for  Torquemada's  arrival  and  leave  her  to  die ! 
He  will  wreak  his  full  vengeance  upon  her." 

"  Trust  me  for  her  safety,  my  young  friend ;  measures 
have  been  already  taken  to  secure  it,"  was  Isabella's  instant 
reply,  in  a  tone  so  full  of  sympathy,  that  Arthur  caught  her 
robe,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

She  smiled  kindly  and  passed  on,  still  accompanied  by 
Ferdinand,  not  a  little  astonished  at  her  words,  and  still 
more  so  when  Marie's  whole  tale  was  imparted  to  him. 

On  retiring  to  rest  that  night,  his  thoughts  still  engross 
ed  with  vain  speculations  as  to  the  destined  fate  of  Marie, — 
Arthur,  half  unconsciously,  unsheathed  Isabella's  magnifi 
cent  gift,  to  judge  of  the  temper  of  the  blade ;  and,  as  he 
did  so,  a  scroll,  which  had  been  twisted  round  the  steel,  fell 
to  the  ground.  He  raised  it  with  hasty  curiosity,  but  his 
heart  throbbed  as  he  recognized  the  handwriting  of  the 
Queen,  and  deciphered  the  following  words  : — 

"  To  Senor  Stanley,  in  secrecy  and  confidence,  these  : 
The  eye  of  love  is  said  to  pierce  through  all  disguises.  In 
this  instance  it  has  proved  less  discriminative  than  woman's 
sympathy,  and  woman's  penetration.  She  in  whom  we 
believe  Senor  Stanley  interested,  and  to  whose  exertions  he 
owes  the  publication  of  his  innocence  in  time  to  save  life  as 
well  as  honor,  is  safe,  and  under  the  protection  of  her 
Queen.  Let  this  suffice  for  present  peace,  and  speak  of  it 
to  none.  ISABELLA  K-." 

Arthur's  first  impulse  was  to  press  the  precious  letter  to 
his  lips,  and  gaze  upon  it  till  every  letter  seemed  transferred 
from  the  paper  to  his  heart ;  his  next  was  to  sit  down  on  the 
nearest  seat,  and  bury  his  face  in  his  hands,  actually  bewil- 


212  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS J 

dered  by  the  flash  of  light,  which  with  those  brief  words 
came.  Disguise — exertion — could  it  be  possible  ?  Nay,  it 
must  be  !  The  soft  touch  of  that  little  hand,  the  speaking 
look  of  those  lovely  eyes,  again  thrilled  through  his  very 
soul,  and  he  knew  their  meaning  now.  Mysterious,  bewil 
dering  as  it  was,  the  novice,  the  poor,  exhausted,  seeming 
boy — was  Marie  !  Again  he  owed  his  life  to  her  ;  and  the 
wild  yearning  to  gaze  on  her  again,  to  clasp  her  to  his  bosom, 
to  pour  forth  his  gratitude,  to  soothe  and  shield,  became  so 
painfully  intense,  as  almost  to  banish  the  joy,  which  her  res 
cue  from  danger  ought  to  have  occasioned.  Had  it  not  been 
for  her  refusal  to  bear  witness  against  him,  not  even  the 
month's  grace  would  have  been  allowed  him  ;  he  would  have 
been  executed  at  once.  She  had  saved  him  then — she  had 
saved  him  now  !  And  his  heart  so  swelled  he  knew  not  how 
to  contain  its  fulness,  how  to  calm  it  down,  to  wait  till  the 
Queen's  further  pleasure  should  be  known.  But  hope  sprung 
up  to  give  him  comfort ;  Isabella  would  accomplish  her 
intention  of  conversion ;  Marie  could  never  resist  her,  and 
then — then,  oh  !  she  would  be  all,  all  his  own,  and  life  shine, 
for  both  the  brighter,  for  its  former  tempest  clouds.  Mean 
while,  he  had  such  sweet  thoughts,  such  lovely  images,  to 
rest  on.  He  owed  his  life,  his  honor,  to  her;  and  he 
thought  that  it  was  his  devoted  gratitude  which  so  deepened 
love.  How  sweet  is  such  illusion  !  how  refreshingly  soothing 
to  be  grateful,  when  the  object  of  that  gratitude  has  been, 
and  is  still,  the  dear  object  of  our  love  !  How  often  we 
deceive  ourselves,  and  imagine  we  are  experiencing  the 
strongest  emotions  of  gratitude,  when,  had  an  indifferent 
person  conferred  the  same  benefit,  we  might  feel  it  indeed, 
but  it  would  more  pain  than  pleasure  ;  and  be  an  obligation 
so  heavy  that  we  should  never  rest,  till  in  some  measure,  at 
least,  it  was  returned.  How  contrary  the  impression  of 
benefits  from  those  we  love  ! 

Never  before  had  the  appearance  of  the  Queen's  confess 
or,  the  stern,  and  some  said  cruel,  Torquemada,  been  hailed 
with  such  excitement.  He  was  speedily  informed  of  the 
late  transactions,  and  his  counsel  most  earnestly  demanded 
by  both  sovereigns.  He  required  some  days  to  deliberate, 
he  said,  so  momentous  and  important  was  the  affair ;  and 
when  he  did  reply,  his  counsel  was  entirely  opposed  to  what 


213 

many  hoped,  and  Ferdinand  expected.  Indignant  as  he 
declared  himself  to  be.  at  the  abuses  in  religion,  he  yet  put 
a  strong  and  most  decided  negative  on  the  royal  proposition, 
of  utterly  exterminating  this  unlawful  tribunal.  With  all 
his  natural  eloquence,  and  in  most  forcible  language,  he 
declared  that,  if  kept  within  proper  bounds,  restrained  by 
due  authority,  and  its  proceedings  open  to  the  inspection  of 
the  Sovereign,  and  under  him,  the  archbishops-  and  other 
dignitaries  of  the  church,  the  Inquisition  would  be  a  most 
Valuable  auxiliary  to  the  well-doing  and  purifying  of  the 
most  Catholic  kingdom.  He  produced  argument  after  argu 
ment  of  most  subtle  reasoning,  to  prove  that  every  effort  to 
abolish  the  office  in  Spain  had  been  entirely  useless  :  it  would 
exist,  and  if  not  publicly  acknowledged,  would  always  be 
liable  to  abuse  and  desecration ;  that  the  only  means  of 
exterminating  its  secret,  and  too  arrogant  power,  was  to  per 
mit  its  public  establishment,  and  so  control  it,  that  its 
measures  should  be  open  to  the  present,  and  to  every  succes 
sive  sovereign.  He  allowed  the  necessity,  the  imperious 
necessity  of  rooting  out  the  secret  office  ;  but  he  was  con 
vinced  this  could  not  be  done,  nor  in  fact  would  the  church 
allow  it,  unless  it  should  be  recognized  in  the  face  of  all 
Europe,  as  based  on  alike  the  civil  and  religious  laws  of 
Spain. 

On  Ferdinand  the  wily  churchman  worked,  by  proving 
that  his  royal  prerogative  would  be  insured  rather  than 
injured  by  this  proceeding ;  that  by  publicly  establishing 
the  Inquisition,  he  proved  his  resolution  to  control  even  this 
power,  and  render  it  a  mere  instrument  in  his  sovereign 
hand ;  that  his  contemplated  conquest  of  the  Moors  could 
not  be  better  begun  than  by  the  recognition  of  a  holy  office, 
whose  gbry  it  would  be  to  bring  all  heathens  to  the  purify 
ing  and  saving  doctrines  of  the  church  of  Rome.  Ferdinand, 
though  wary  and  politic  himself,  was  no  match  for  Torque- 
mada's  Jesuitical  eloquence ;  he  was  won  over  to  adopt  the 
churchman's  views  with  scarcely  an  effort  to  resist  them. 
With  Isabella  the  task  was  much  more  difficult  He  appeal 
ed  guardedly  and  gently  to  her  tender  regard  for  the  spirit 
ual  welfare  of  her  people,  sympathized  with  her  in  her  indig 
nant  horror  of  the  crimes  committed  under  religion's  name, 
but  persisted  that  the  evil  of  a  secret  Inquisition  would 


214  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS } 

never  be  remedied,  save  by  the  measure  he  proposed  He 
pledged  himself  never  to  rest,  till  the  present  halls  and  min 
isters  of  darkness  were  exterminated  from  every  part  of 
Spain  ;  but  it  could  only  be  on  condition  of  her  assent  to 
his  counsel.  He  used  all  his  eloquence  ;  he  appealed  to  her 
as  a  zealous  Catholic,  whose  first  duty  was  to  further  and 
purify  her  faith  ;  but  for  four  days  he  worked  in  vain  ;  and 
when  she  did  give  her  consent,  it  was  with  such  a  burst  of 
tears,  that  it  seemed  as  if  her  foreboding  eye  had  indeed 
read  the  shrouded  annals  of  the  future,  and  beheld  there, 
not  the  sufferings  of  individuals  alone,  but  of  the  decline  and 
dishonor  of  that  fair  and  lovely  land,  which  she  had  so  labor 
ed  to  exalt.  Ere  another  year  from  that  day  had  passed, 
the  Inquisition  was  publicly  established  throughout  the 
kingdom  ;  and  Torquemada,  as  first  Grand  Inquisitor,  reaped 
the  reward  of  his  persevering  counsel,  and  sealed,  with  blood, 
the  destiny  of  Spain. 

To  her  confessor,  Isabella  revealed  the  story  of  Marie, 
and  her  own  intentions.  Torquemada  heard  the  tale  with  a 
stern  severity,  little  encouraging  to  the  Queen's  ideas  of 
mercy  ;  he  insisted  that  her  conversion  must  be  effected  ;  if 
by  kindness  and  forbearance,  well  and  good  ;  but  if  she  were 
obstinate,  harshness  must  be  resorted  to  ;  and  only  on  that 
condition  would  he  grant  Isabella  the  desired  blessing  on  her 
task.  He  did  not  fail  to  bring  forward  the  fact  of  a  zealous 
Catholic,  such  as  Don  Ferdinand  Morales,  wedding  and 
cherishing  one  of  the  accursed  race,  and  conniving  at  her 
secret  adherence  to  her  religion,  as  a  further  and  very  strong 
incentive  for  the  public  establishment  of  the  Inquisition, 
whose  zealous  care  would  effectually  guard  the  sons  of  Spain 
from  such  unholy  alliances  in  future.  He  urged  the  suppo 
sition  of  Marie's  having  become  the  mother  of  children  by 
Ferdinand ;  was  it  not  most  probable,  nay,  certain,  that  she 
would  infuse  her  own  unbelief  in  them  ;  and  then  how  mixed 
and  defiled  a  race  would  take  the  place  of  the  present  pure 
Castilians.  Isabella  could  reply  nothing  satisfactory  to  this 
eloquent  reasoning.  The  prejudices  of  education  are  strong 
in  every  really  earnest  heart ;  and  though  her  true  woman's 
nature  revolted  at  every  thought  of  severity,  and  towards 
one  so  suffering  as  Marie,  she  acknowledged  its  necessity, 
in  case  of  kindness  failing.  Under  the  seal  of  confession, 


OR.   THE   MARTYR.  215 

she  imparted  her  full  plan  to  Torquemada,  entering  more 
into  minute  particulars  than  she  had  done  even  to  her  hus 
band,  or  in  words  to  herself.  It  was  so  fraught  with  mercy 
and  gentleness  that  Torquemada  gave  his  consent,  believing 
it  utterly  impossible,  if  Marie  really  loved,  as  Isabella  fan 
cied,  that  she  could  resist. 

On  the  departure  of  her  confessor,  the  Queen  communed, 
as  was  her  frequent  custom,  long  and  severely  with  her  own 
heart.  What  was  the  cause  of  her  extreme  dislike  to  using 
harshness  ?  With  any  other  member  of  that  detested  race, 
she  felt  Torquemada's  counsel  would  have  been  all-powerful ; 
she  would  have  left  it  all  to  him.  It  was  then  mere  personal 
regard,  fear  of  the  suffering  which,  did  she  cause  Marie  in 
crease  of  pain,  she  should  inflict  upon  herself,  and  this  must 
not  be.  She  was  failing  in  the  duty  she  owed  her  religion, 
if  she  could  not  summon  resolution  to  sacrifice  even  affection 
at  its  shrine.  And  so  she  nerved  herself,  to  adopt  Torque 
mada's  stern  alternative,  if  indeed  it  were  required.  How 
strange  is  self-delusion  !  howdiflicult,  even  to  the  noblest,  most 
unselfish  natures,  to  read  another  spirit  by  their  own  ! 
Isabella  felt  it  might  be  a  duty  to  sacrifice  affection  for  reli 
gion,  and  nerved  herself  to  its  performance  at  any  cost. 
And  yet  that  Marie  should  do  so,  she  could  not  believe ;  and 
if  she  did,  harshness  and  suffering  were  to  be  her  sole  reward ! 
Oh,  that  in  religion,  as  in  every  thing  else,  man  would 
judge  his  brother  man  by  his  own  heart ;  and  as  dear,  as 
precious,  as  his  peculiar  creed  may  be  to  him,  believe  so  it  is 
with  the  faith  of  his  brother  !  How  much  of  misery,  how 
much  of  contention,  of  cruelty  and  oppression,  would  pass 
away  from  this  lovely  earth,  and  give  place  for  Heaven's  own 
unity  and  peace,  and  harmony  and  love. 


216 


THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"Oh,  bear  me  up 

Against  the  unutterable  tenderness 
Of  earthly  love,  my  God  !     In  the  sick  hour 
Of  dying  human  hope,  forsake  me  not !" 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

FOR  some  months  all  was  gayety  and  rejoicing  in  Segovia, 
not  a  little  heightened  by  the  exciting  preparations  for  the 
much  desired  war.  The  time  had  now  come  when  Ferdinand 
could,  with  safety  to  the  internal  state  of  his  kingdom,  com 
mence  the  struggle  for  which  he  had  so  impatiently  waited, 
since  the  very  first  hour  of  the  union  of  Arragon  and  Castile. 
Troops  were  marshalling  secretly  all  over  Spain  ;  the 
armorers  and  smiths  were  in  constant  requisition.  The 
nobles  were  constantly  flitting  from  their  hereditary  domains 
to  the  court,  eager  and  active  to  combine  all  the  pomp  and 
valor  of  a  splendid  chivalry  with  the  more  regular  force  ; 
standing  armies,  which  in  almost  every  European  land  were 
now  beginning  to  take  the  place  of  the  feudal  soldiery,  so 
long  their  sole  resource.  It  was  necessary  for  Ferdinand, 
ere  he  commenced  operations,  to  visit  his  own  dominions ;  a 
measure  he  did  not  regret,  as  it  effectually  concealed  his 
ulterior  plans  from  the  Moors,  who  were  also  at  that  time 
too  much  disturbed  by  internal  dissensions,  to  give  more 
than  a  cursory  glance  on  the  movements  and  appearances  of 
their  Christian  foes. 

In  the  festivals  of  the  palace  the  young  Englishman  was 
naturally  the  hero  of  the  day  ;  the  best  feelings  of  the  Spanish 
character  had  been  called  into  play  towards  him :  he  had 
been  unjustly  accused  and  seriously  injured  ;  been  subject 
to  dishonor  and  shame ;  and  many  might  say  it  had  all 
sprung  from  prejudice  against  him  as  a  foreigner.  The  very 
failing  of  the  Spaniards  in  this  case  also  operated  in  his 
favor;  their  national  jealousy  called  upon  them  to  make 
publicly  manifest  the  falsity  of  such  a  supposition,  and  he 
was  courted  and  f6ted  by  all.  brought  forward  on  every  occa- 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  217 

eion,  and  raised  and  promoted  both  to  civil  and  military  dis 
tinction,  by  those  very  men  who,  before  the  late  events,  would 
have  been  the  first  to  keep  him  back,  yielding  him  but  the 
bare  and  formal  courtesy,  which,  however  prejudiced,  no  true- 
born  Spaniard  could  refuse. 

Amongst  Isabella's  female  train,  Arthur  Stanley  was 
ever  gladly  welcomed,  and  his  presence  might  have  proved 
dangerous  to  more  than  one  of  Isabella's  younger  attendants, 
had  not  his  manner  been  such  as  to  preclude  even  the  boldest 
and  most  presuming  from  any  thought  of  love.  One  alone 
he  certainly  singled  out  to  talk  with,  and  treat  with  more 
attention  than  any  other ;  and  that  one  was  the  maiden  we 
have  more  than  once  had  occasion  to  mention,  Catherine  Pas. 
Rallied  as  she  was  by  her  companions,  the  young  girl  herself 
imagined  there  could  be  no  danger  to  her  peace  in  associating 
thus  with  the  handsome  young  Englishman  ;  for  she^  knew, 
though  her  companions  did  not,  the  real  reason  of  his  pre 
ference  for  her  society.  Isabella  had  once  slightly  hinted 
from  which  of  her  attendants  Stanley  might  hear  of  Marie, 
and  giving  them  permission  to  answer  his  queries.  It  was  a 
dangerous  ordeal  for  Catherine,  but  she  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  permitting  her  heart  to  pass  into  the  possession  of  one 
who  cared  nothing  for  her,  save  as  she  could  speak  of  Marie. 

G-reat  was  the  surprise  and  many  the  conjectures  of  the 
Queen's  female  court,  when  rather  more  than  six  months 
after  her  strange  disappearance,  the  widow  of  Morales  re 
appeared  amongst  them  ;  not  publicly  indeed,  for  at  the 
various  fetes  and  amusements  of  the  palace,  and  elsewhere, 
Marie  was  never  seen.  Her  existence,  however,  and  safety, 
under  Isabella's  especial  protection,  were  no  longer  kept 
secret  ;  and  her  recent  loss  was  in  itself  quite  sufficient 
reason  for  her  strict  retirement.  Her  identity  with  brother 
Ernest,  the  supposed  novice,  never  transpired  ;  he  was  sup 
posed  to  have  returned  with  Perez  to  his  guardian,  Father 
Ambrose,  who,  though  seen  and  questioned^  by  Don  Alonzo 
at  the  village,  did  not  accompany  his  dying  penitent  to 
Segovia,  nor,  in  fact,  was  ever  seen  in  that  city  again. 

The  tender  care  and  good  nursing  which  had  been  lavished 

on  Marie,  had  restored  her  sufficiently  to  health  as  to  permit 

returning  elasticity  of  mind.     All  morbid  agony  had  passed, 

all  too  passionate  emotions  were  gradually  relaxing   theij 

10 


218 

fire-bands  round  her  heart  ;  and  strength,  the  martyr 
strength,  for  which  she  unceasingly  prayed,  to  give  up  all  if 
called  upon  for  her  God,  seemed  dawning  for  her.  That 
she  was  still  under  some  restraint,  a  sort  of  prisoner  in  the 
palace,  Marie  herself  was  not  aware ;  she  had  neither  wish 
nor  energy  to  leave  the  castle,  and  therefore  knew  not  that 
her  egress,  save  under  watchful  guardianship,  would  have 
been  denied.  She  had  no  spirits  to  mingie  with  the  light- 
hearted,  happy  girls,  in  her  Sovereign's  train,  and  therefore 
was  unconscious  that,  with  the  sole  exception  of  Catherine 
whose  passionate  entreaties  had  obtained  her  this  privilege, 
all  intimacy  with  them  would  have  been  effectually  prevented. 
It  was  enough,  more  than  enough  (for  the  foreboding  dread 
was  ever  present,  that  such  a  blissful  calm,  such  mental  and 
bodily  repose,  were  far,  far  too  sweet  for  any  long  continu 
ance)  to  be  employed  in  little  services  for  and  about  the 
person  of  the  Queen,  and  to  know  that  Arthur  Stanley  was 
restored  to  even  more  than  former  favor,  and  fast  rising  to 
eminence  and  honor. 

Before  the  sovereigns  quitted  Segovia,  Stanley  left  the 
court  to  march  southward  with  Pedro  Pas,  to  occupy  a  strong 
fortification  on  the  barrier  line,  dividing  the  Spanish  from 
the  Moorish  territories,  and  commanding  a  very  important 
post,  which  Ferdinand  was  anxious  to  secure,  and  where  he 
intended  to  commence  his  warlike  operations,  as  speedily  as 
he  could  settle  affairs  at  Saragossa.  Twice  before  Stanley's 
departure  did  Isabella  contrive  an  apparently  accidental 
meeting  between  him  and  Marie,  permitting  them,  though  in 
her  presence,  ample  opportunity  for  mutual  explanation ;  but 
not  with  much  evident  success.  Stanley,  indeed,  was  pain 
fully  and  visibly  agitated,  finding  it  difficult,  almost  impossi 
ble  to  speak  the  feelings  wihich  had  so  long  filled  heart  and 
mind,  and  been  in  fancy  so  often  thrown  into  eloquent  words, 
that  he  could  not  understand  why  in  her  presence  words 
were  frozen  up,  and  he  could  only  feel.  Marie's  cheek  and 
lip  had  indeed  blanched  as  she  beheld  him,  but  the  deep  and 
quiet  calm  she  had  so  earnestly  sought,  even  then  did  not 
forsake  her  ;  once  only  her  voice  faltered,  when  she  con 
jured  him  to  allude  no  longer  to  the  past,  that  the  exertions 
she  had  made  for  him  demanded  no  such  gratitude  as  he  ex 
pressed.  He  would  have  answered  with  his  usual  passionate 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  219 

impetuosity,  but  there  was  something  in  her  manner  which 
restrained  him ;  it  was  no  longer  the  timid,  yielding  girl, 
who,  even  while  she  told  him  of  the  barrier  between  them, 
had  yet  betrayed  the  deep  love  she  felt:  it  was  the  woman 
whose  martyr  spirit  was  her  strength.  And  yet,  spite  of 
himself,  he  hoped.  Isabella,  in  parting  with  him,  had  spoken 
such  words  as  sent  a  thrill  of  delight  over  his  whole  being, 
and  he  quitted  Segovia  buoyant  and  glad-hearted,  to  wait 
weeks,  months,  he  thought  even  years :  so  certain  did  he 
feel  of  success  at  last. 

Isabella  accompanied  Ferdinand  to  Arragon,  and  deter 
mined  on  remaining  at  Saragossa  during  the  commencement 
of  his  Moorish  campaign ;  but  she  did  not  part  from  him 
without  demanding  and  receiving  his  solemn  promise  to 
send  for  her  as  soon  as  the  residence  of  females  in  the  camp 
was  practicable.  She  well  knew  the  inspiring  power  of  her 
presence  in  similar  scenes,  and  the  joy  and  increased  ardor 
which  the  vicinity  of  near  and  dear  relations,  composing  her 
court,  would  excite  in  the  warrior  camp  of  Ferdinand.  The 
promise  was  given,  and  the  annals  of  the  Moorish  war  tell 
us  how  faithfully  it  was  kept,  and  how  admirably  Isabella 
performed  the  part  she  had  assigned  herself. 

Months  glided  slowly  and  peacefully  on  ;  as  each  passed, 
the  trembling  heart  of  Marie  foreboded  change  and  sorrow ; 
but  it  was  not  till  she  had  been  eight  months  a  widow 
that  aught  transpired  which  could  account  for  such  strange 
fears.  Then,  indeed,  the  trial  came :  she  thought  she  was 
prepared,  but  the  aching  heart  and  failing  strength  with 
which  she  listened  to  the  Queen's  commands,  betrayed  how 
little  our  best  endeavors  can  pave  the  way  for  sorrow.  Isa 
bella  spoke  gently  and  kindly  indeed,  but  so  decisively, 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  her  words :  she  had 
waited,  she  said,  till  time  had  restored  not  only  health  and 
strength,  but  some  degree  of  tranquillity  to  the  heart,  and 
elasticity  to  the  mind.  That,  as  a  Jewess,  Marie  must  have 
long  known,  the  Queen  could  not  continue  favor  ;  that  she 
was,  in  fact,  acting  without  a  precedent  in  thus  permitting 
the  attendance  of  an  unbeliever  on  her  person,  or  appear* 
ance  in  her  court ;  but  that  she  had  so  acted,  believing  that 
when  perfectly  restored  to  sense  and  energy,  Marie  would 
herself  feel  the  necessity,  and  gladly  embrace  the  only  re- 


220  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS', 

turn  she  required — a  calm  deliberation  of  the  Catholic  faith, 
and,  as  a  necessary  consequence,  its  acceptance.  She  there 
fore  desired  that  Marie  would  devote  herself  to  the  instruc 
tions  of  a  venerable  monk  (Father  Denis  by  name),  whom 
she  had  selected  for  the  task.  That  from  that  day  Marie 
would  not  be  called  upon  for  either  service  or  attendance  on 
the  Queen,  but  to  devote  her  whole  mind  and  energies  to 
the  task  proposed ;  and  that  when  Father  Denis  brought 
her  information  that  Marie  accepted  the  cross,  that  very 
hour  she  should  resume  her  place  in  Isabella's  court,  and  be 
the  dearest,  most  cherished  there  ! — be  publicly  acknow 
ledged  as  the  inheritrix  of  her  husband's  vast  possessions, 
and  a  future  of  love  and  joy  would  shine  before  her,  so 
bright  as  to  banish  even  the  memories  of  the  stormy  past. 

Marie  would  have  replied,  but  Isabella,  with  gentle  firm 
ness,  refused  to  hear  her.  "  I  demand  nothing  now,"  she 
said,  "  but  obedience.  A  willing  heart,  and  open  mind,  are 
all  you  need  bring  with  you  to  your  task :  the  father's  holy 
lessons,  blessed  with  God's  grace,  will  do  the  rest.  I  cannot 
believe  that  all  the  kindness  and  affection  I  have  shown  have 
been  so  utterly  without  effect,  that  thou  too  wilt  evince  the 
ungrateful  obstinacy,  so  unhappily  the  characteristic  of  thy 
blinded  people.  If  banishment  from  our  presence  be  a 
source  of  sorrow,  which  I  do  believe  it  is,  the  term  of  that 
banishment  rests  entirely  with  thyself.  The  sooner  we  can 
hail  the  child  of  the  Virgin,  even  as  thou  art  now  of  our 
affections,  the  greater  share  of  happiness  wilt  thou  bestow 
upon  us  and  upon  thyself.  We  have  heard  that  nought  but 
harshness  and  severity  can  have  effect  on  thy  hardened  race. 
It  may  be,  but  with  thee,  at  least,  we  will  not  use  it,  un 
less — "  and  her  voice  and  her  look  grew  sufficiently  stern  for 
Marie  to  feel  her  words  were  no  idle  threat — "  unless  obdu 
racy  and  ingratitude  so  conquer  affection  that  we  can  see  no 
more  in  the  Marie  Morales  we  have  loved  than  a  hardened 
member  of  her  own  stiff-necked  race  ;  then — ,  but  we  will 
not  pain  ourself  or  thee,  by  imagining  what  thine  own  will 
may  avert.  Go,  and  the  holy  Virgin  bless  thee.  Not  a 
word  ;  I  know  what  will  be  thine  answer  now ;  but  a  month 
hence  thou  wilt  thank  me  for  this  seeming  severity." 

And  Isabella  turned  somewhat  hastily  away ;  for  her  lip 
quivered  and  her  eye  swelled.  Marie  did  not  see  these  in 
dications  of  emotion,  and  silently  withdrew. 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  221 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

"  I  have  lost  for  that  Faith  more  than  thou  canst  bestow, 
As  the  God  who  permits  thee  to  prosper  doth  know. 
In  His  hand  is  my  heart,  and  my  hope ;  and  in  thine 
The  land,  and  the  life,  which  for  Him  I  resign." 

BYRON. 

MARIE  Morales  had  had  many  trials.  Her  life  had  been 
one  of  those  painful  mysteries,  as  to  why  such  a  being  should 
have  been  thus  exposed  to  scorn,  which  while  on  earth  we 
vainly  try  to  solve.  Yet  it  is  no  imaginary  picture :  hun 
dreds,  aye  thousands,  of  Israel's  devoted  race  have  thus  en 
dured  ;  in  every  age,  in  every  clime,  have  been  exposed  to 
martyrdom — not  of  the  frame  alone,  but  of  the  heart; 
doomed  but  to  suffer,  and  to  die.  And  how  may  we  recon 
cile  these  things  with  the  government  of  a  loving  father, 
save  by  the  firm  belief,  which,  blessed — thrice  blessed — are 
those  who  feel ;  that,  for  such  sufferers  on  earth,  a  future  of 
blessedness  is  laid  up  in  another  and  lovelier  world — where 
there  is  no  more  sorrow,  no  more  tears ! 

Her  former  trials  had  been  sharp  agony  and  strong  ex 
citement.  Her  present  had  neither  the  one  nor  the  other ; 
yet  it  was  fraught  with  as  heavy  suffering,  as  any  that  had 
gone  before  it ;  even  though  she  knew  not,  guessed  not,  all 
that  depended  upon  her  conversion.  It  would  have  been 
comparatively  easy  to  have  endured,  for  her  faith's  sake, 
harshness  and  contempt ;  in  such  a  case,  self-respect  rises  to 
sustain  us,  and  we  value  our  own  tenets  the  more,  from 
their  startling  contrast  with  those  which  could  command  the 
cruelty  we  endure ;  but  Father  Denis  used  harshness  nei 
ther  of  manner  nor  of  words.  Firmly  impressed  in  his  own 
mind,  that  it  was  utterly  vain  for  a  soul  to  hope  for  salva 
tion  unless  it  believed  in  Jesus,  the  Virgin,  the  saints  and 
holy  martyrs,  he  brought  heart  and  soul  to  his  task  ;  and 
the  more  he  saw  of  Marie,  the  more  painfully  did  he  deplore 
her  blind  infatuation,  and  the  more  ardently  desire,  to  save 
her  from  the  eternal  perdition  which,  as  a  Jewess,  must 
await  her.  He  poured  forth  such  soul-breathing  petitions, 


222  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS ; 

for  saving  grace  to  be  vouchsafed  to  her,  in  her  hearing,  that 
Marie  felt  as  if  she  would  have  given  worlds,  only  to  realize 
the  belief  for  which  he  prayed ;  but  the  more  her  heart  was 
wrung,  the  more  vividly  it  seemed  that  her  own  faith,  the 
religion  of  her  fathers  through  a  thousand  ages,  impressed 
itself  upon  her  mind  and  heart,  rendering  it  more  and  more 
impossible  for  her  to  forswear  it,  even  at  the  very  moment 
that  weak  humanity  longed  to  do  it,  and  so  purchase  peace. 
Naturally  so  meek  and  yielding,  so  peculiarly  alive  to  the 
voice  of  sympathy  and  kindness,  it  was  inexpressibly  and 
harrowingly  distressing  to  be  thus  compelled  to  resist  both ; 
to  think  also  of  all  Isabella's  gentle,  cherishing,  and  mani- 
'fested  affection  ;  and  to  know  that  the  only  return  she  de 
manded,  she  dared  not,  might  not  give.  To  some  disposi 
tions  these  considerations  would  have  been  of  no  weight 
whatever  ;  to  Marie  they  were  so  exquisitely  painful,  that 
she  could  scarcely  understand  how  it  was  that,  feeling  them 
thus  acutely,  she  could  yet  so  clearly,  so  calmly,  reply  to 
Father  Denis,  bring  argument  for  argument,  and  never  waver 
in  her  steadfast  adherence  to,  and  belief  in  her  own  creed. 
The  very  lessons  of  her  youth,  which  she  had  thought  for 
gotten  in  the  varied  trials  which  had  been  her  portion  since, 
returned  with  full — she  fancied  superhuman — force  and 
clearness  to  her  mind,  rendering  even  the  very  wish  to  em 
brace  the  Catholic  religion,  futile.  There  was  a  voice  with 
in  her  that  would  be  heard,  aye  above  every  human  feeling, 
every  strong  temptation.  She  could  not  drown  its  clear 
ringing  tones ;  even  where  her  mental  sufferings  seemed  to 
cloud  and  harrow  up  the  brain,  to  the  exclusion  of  every 
distinct  idea,  that  voice  would  breathe  its  thrilling  whisper, 
telling  her  it  was  vain  to  hope  it,  she  could  not  be  in  heart  a 
Catholic ;  and  so  she  dared  not  be  in  words. 

A  romance  is  no  place  for  polemical  discussion,  and  we 
will  therefore  leave  those  painful  arguments  unrecorded. 
Suffice  it,  that  Marie's  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Holy 
Scriptures  in  their  original  tongue — the  language  of  her  own 
people — gave  her  so  decided  an  advantage  over  the  old  monk, 
that,  after  nearly  three  months'  trial,  he  sought  his  Sove 
reign,  and,  with  the  most  touching  humility,  acknowledged 
his  utter  incapacity,  for  the  conversion  of  Donna  Marie,  and 
implored  her  to  dismiss  him,  and  select  one  more  fitted  for 
the  task. 


OR,  THE  MARTYR.  223 

Astonished,  and  bitterly  disappointed,  Isabella  cross- 
questioned  him  as  to  the  cause  of  this  sudden  feeling  of  inca 
pacity,  and  his  answers  but  increased  her  desire  to  compel  Ma 
rie  to  abandon  Judaism,  and  become — in  semblance  at  least, 
a  Catholic ;  believing  fully  that,  this  accomplished,  the  Holy 
Spirit  would  do  the  rest,  and  she  would  at  least  have  saved 
her  soul.  She  retained  the  father  in  the  palace;  desiring 
him  to  inform  his  charge  that  one  fortnight's  grace  would  be 
allowed  her,  to  ponder  on  all  the  solemn  truths  he  had  ad 
vanced,  and  on  her  own  decision  whether  she  would  not 
rather  yield  to  kindness,  than  tempt  the  severity  her  obsti 
nacy  demanded ;  but,  save  this  enjoyment,  he  was  to  com 
mune  with  her  no  further.  "With  a  trembling  spirit  the 
Queen  again  sought  the  counsel  of  her  confessor,  and  re 
ported  the  information  of  the  holy  father.  Torquemada 
listened,  with  a  curling  lip  and  contracted  brow.  He  was 
not  surprised,  he  said,  for  it  was  exactly  what  he  had  expected. 
It  was  a  part  of  their  blaspheming  creed,  to  blind  by  sorcery, 
the  eyes  and  minds  of  all  those  who  had  ever  attempted  to 
win  them  over  by  kind  and  reasonable  argument.  Father 
Denis  had  been  bewitched,  as  all  were,  who  ever  attempted 
to  convert,  by  other  than  the  harshest  means.  Her  grace 
must  see  the  necessity  of  severity,  and  surely  could  not 
refuse  the  using  it  any  longer.  But  Isabella  did  refuse,  till 
her  last  resource  had  been  tried ;  and  all  she  asked  was,  if 
she  might  hold  forth  a  powerful  temporal  temptation  to 
obtain  the  end  she  so  earnestly  desired  ?  Torquemada  hesi 
tated  ;  but  at  length,  on  being  told  the  severe  alternative 
which  Isabella  would  enforce,  if  her  first  proposal  were  re 
jected,  reluctantly  acceded;  still  persisting  that  nothing 
but  the  rack  and  the  flame,  or  fatal  expulsion,  would  ever 
purge  Spain  from  the  horrible  infection  of  so  poisonous  a 
race.  Isabella  heard  him  with  a  shudder ;  but,  thankful 
even  for  this  ungracious  sanction,  waited,  with  trembling  im 
patience,  the  termination  of  the  given  fourteen  days  ;  hoping, 
aye  praying  in  her  meek,  fervid  piety,  that  the  mistaken  one 
might  be  softened  to  accept  the  proffered  grace,  or  her  own 
heart  strengthened  to  sacrifice  all  of  personal  feeling  for  the 
purifying  by  fire  and  consequent  salvation,  of  that  immortal 
soul  now  so  fearfully  led  astray. 

It  was  with  little  hope  that  the  father  again  sought  Marie. 


224 

Bewitched  he  might  be,  but  he  was  so  impressed  with  tha 
fervid  earnestness  of  her  gentle  spirit ;  with  the  lofty  enthu 
siasm  that  dictated  her  decision  ;  so  touched  with  the  uncom 
plaining,  but  visible  suffering,  which  it  cost  her  to  argue  with? 
and  reject  the  voice  of  kindness — that  it  required  a  strong 
mental  effort  in  the  old  man,  to  refrain  from  conjuring  his 
Sovereign,  to  permit  that  misguided  one  to  remain  unmolest 
ed,  and  wait,  till  time,  and  prayer,  from  those  so  interested 
in  her,  should  produce  the  desired  effect.  But  this  feeling 
was  so  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  the  age,  that  it  scarcely 
needed  Torquemada's  representations  to  convince  him,  Uiat 
he  was  experiencing  the  effect  of  the  invisible  sorcery  with 
which  the  race  of  Israel  always  blinded  the  eyes  of  their 
opponents.  The  kind  old  man  was  awed  and  silenced  by  his 
stern  superior.  Liberty  of  conscience  was  then  a  thing  un 
heard  of ;  and  therefore  it  was,  that  so  much  of  the  divine 
part  of  our  mingled  nature  was  so  completely  concealed, 
that  it  lost  alike  effect  or  influence.  It  was  not  even  the 
subjection  of  the  weak  to  the  strong ;  but  the  mere  superi 
ority  of  clerical  rank.  The  truest  and  the  noblest,  the  most 
enlarged  mind,  the  firmest  spirit  would  bend  unresistingly  to 
the  simple  word  of  a  priest ;  and  the  purest  and  kindest  im 
pulses  of  our  holier  nature  be  annihilated,  before  the  dic 
tates  of  those,  who  were  supposed  to  hold  so  infallibly,  in 
their  sole  keeping,  the  oracles  of  God.  The  spiritual  in  man 
was  kept  in  rigid  bondage  ;  the  divinity  worshipped  by  the 
Catholics  of  that  age,  represented  to  the  mass  like  the  Egyp 
tian  idol,  with  a  key  upon  his  lips — his  attributes,  as  his  law, 
hid  from  them,  or  imparted  by  chosen  priests,  who  explained 
them  only  as  suited  their  individual  purposes.  Is  it  marvel, 
then,  that  we  should  read  of  such  awful  acts  committed  in 
Religion's  name  by  man  upon  his  brother  ?  or  that  we  should 
see  the  purest  and  loveliest  characters  led  away  by  priestly 
influence  to  commit  deeds,  from  which  now,  the  whole  mind 
so  recoils,  that  we  turn  away  disappointed  and  perplexed  at 
the  inconsistency,  and  refuse  the  meed  of  love  and  admira 
tion  to  those  other  qualities,  which  would  otherwise  shine 
forth  so  unsullied  ?  The  inconsistency,  the  seeming  cruelty 
and  intolerance,  staining  many  a  noble  one  in  the  middle 
ages,  were  the  effects  of  the  fearful  spirit  of  the  time ;  but 
their  virtues  were  their  own.  Truth  if  sought,  must  triumph 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  225 

over  prejudice.  By  inspection  and  earnest  study  of  facts — 
of  causes,  as  well  as  of  events,  the  mind  disperses  the  mists 
of  educational  error,  and  enables  us  to  do  justice,  even  to 
the  injurer  ;  and  enlarges  and  ennobles  our  feelings  towards 
one  another ;  till  we  can  attain  that  perfection  of  true, 
spiritual  charity,  which  would  look  on  all  men  as  children  of 
one  common  parent.  Liable,  indeed,  to  be  led  astray  by 
evil  inclination,  and  yet  more  by  evil  circumstances ;  but 
still  our  brethren,  in  the  divine  part  of  our  nature  ;  which, 
however  crushed,  hidden,  lost  to  earth,  is  still  existing — still 
undying.  For  such  is  the  immortal  likeness  of  our  universal 
Father  ;  in  which  He  made  man,  and  by  which  He  marked 
mankind  as  brethren  ! 

Marie's  answer  was  as  Father  Denis  feared.  She  had 
pondered  on  all  he  had  said,  and  the  dread  alternative 
awaiting  her ;  but  the  impossibility  of  embracing  Catholicism 
was  stronger  than  ever.  The  unfeigned  distress  of  the  old 
monk  pained  and  alarmed  her,  for  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  he 
were  conscious  that  some  dreadful  doom  was  hanging  over 
her,  which  he  shrunk  from  revealing.  She  had  not  long  to 
remain  in  that  torturing  suspense  :  a  few  hours  later  in  the 
same  day,  she  was  summoned  to  Isabella's  presence.  The 
sensation  of  terror  was  so  intense  as  to  render  obedience, 
for  the  minute,  utterly  impossible.  Every  limb  shook,  and 
again  came  the  wild  longing  for  power  to  believe  as  they 
desired ;  for  a  momentary  cessation  of  the  voice  of  conscience, 
to  embrace  the  proffered  cross,  and  be  at  rest.  But  it  would 
not  cease  ;  and,  scarcely  able  to  support  herself,  she  stood 
before  the  dread  Princess  in  whose  hand  was  her  earthly 
fate. 


226  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS' 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  She  clasped  her  hands ! — the  strife 
Of  love— faith— fear,  and  the  vain  dream  of  life, 
Within  her  woman-heart  so  deeply  wrought — 
It  seemed  as  if  a  reed,  so  slight  and  weak, 
Must,  in  the  rending  storm,  not  quiver  only — 
break  1" 

MRS.  HEMAKS. 

ISABELLA'S  expressive  countenance  was  grave  and  calm  ;  but 
it  was  impossible  to  doubt  the  firmness  of  her  purpose, 
though  what  that  purpose  might  be,  Marie  had  no  power  to 
read.  She  stood  leaning  against  the  back  of  one  of  the 
ponderous  chairs  ;  her  head  bent  down,  and  her  heart  so 
loudly  and  thickly  throbbing  that  it  choked  her  very  breath. 

"  We  have  summoned  thee  hither,  Marie,"  the  Queen 
said  at  length,  gravely,  but  not  severely,  "  to  hear  from  thine 
own  lips  the  decision  which  Father  Denis  has  reported  to  us; 
but  which,  indeed,  we  can  scarcely  credit.  Wert  thou  other 
than  thou  art — one  whose  heavy  trials  and  lovable  qualities 
have  bound  thee  to  us  with  more  than  common  love — we 
should  have  delivered  thee  over  at  once  to  the  judgment  of 
our  holy  fathers,  and  interfered  with  their  sentence  no  far 
ther.  We  are  exposing  ourselves  to  priestly  censure  even  for 
the  forbearance  already  shown ;  but  we  will  dare  even  that, 
to  win  thee  from  thine  accursed  creed,  and  give  thee  peace 
and  comfort.  Marie  canst  thou  share  the  ingratitude — the 
obstinacy — of  thy  benighted  race,  that  even  with  thee  we 
must  deal  harshly?  Compel  me  not  to  a  measure  from 
which  my  whole  heart  revolts.  Do  not  let  me  feel  that  the 
charge  against  thy  people  is  true,  without  even  one  excep 
tion,  and  that  kindness  shown  to  them,  is  unvalued  as  unfelt." 

A  convulsive  sob  was  the  sole  reply.  Marie's  face  was 
buried  in  her  hands ;  but  the  tears  were  streaming  through 
her  slender  fingers,  and  her  slight  figure  shook  with  the  par 
oxysm. 

"  Nay,  Marie,  we  ask  not  tears.  We  demand  the  proof 
of  grateful  affection  on  thy  part ;  not  its  weak  display.  And 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  227 

what  is  that  proof?  The  acceptance  of  a  faith  without  which 
there  can  be  no  security  in  this  life,  nor  felicity  hereafter ! 
The  rejection  of  a  fearfully  mistaken — terribly  accursed — 
creed  ;  condemning  its  followers  to  the  scorn  and  hate  of 
man,  and  abiding  wrath  of  God." 

lit  To  the  scorn  and  hate  of  man?'  Alas,  gracious  Sove 
reign,  it  is  even  so  ;  but  not  to  the  '  abiding  wrath  of  God,' " 
answered  Marie,  suppressing  with  a  desperate  effort,  her  pain 
ful  emotion.  "  The  very  scorn  and  loathing  we  encounter  con 
firms  the  blessed  truth,  of  our  having  been  the  chosen  children 
of  our  God,  and  the  glorious  promise  of  our  future  restora 
tion^  We  are  enduring  now  on  earth  the  effects  of  the  fear 
ful  sins  of  our  ancestors ;  but  for  those  who  live  and  die  true 
to  His  law,  there  is  a  future  after  death  laid  up  with  Him ; 
that,  how  may  we  forfeit  for  transitory  joy  ?" 

"If  it^  were  indeed  so,  we  would  be  the  last  to  demand 
such  forfeit,"  answered  the  Queen  ;  "but  'were  it  not  for  the 
blinding  veil  of  wilful  rejection  cast  over  the  eyes  and  hearts 
of  thy  people,  thou  wouldst  know  and  feel,  that  however  thy 
race  were  once  the  chosen  of  God,  the  distinction  has  been 
lost  for  ever,  by  their  blaspheming  rejection  of  Jesus  and  his 
virgin  mother ;  and  the  misery — its  consequence — on  earth, 
is  but  a  faint  type  of  that  misery  which  is  for  everlasting. 
It  is  from  this  we  would  save  thee.  Father  Denis  has  brought 
before  thee  the  solemn  truths  which  our  sainted  creed  ad 
vances,  in  reply  to  the  mystifying  fallacies  of  thine  ;  and,  he 
tells  me,  wholly  without  effect.  My  arguments,  then,  can  be 
of  such  little  weight,  that  I  have  pledged  myself  to  my  con 
fessor  to  attempt  none.  We  summoned  thee  merely  to  tell 
our  decision  in  this  matter ;  of  too  vital  importance  to  be  left 
to  other  lips.  Once  more  let  me  ask — and  understand  thee 
rightly !— have  all  the  Holy  Father's  lessons  failed  to  con 
vince,  even  as  all  our  affection  has  failed  to  move,  thee  ?" 

"  Would — would  to  Heaven  I  could  believe  as  thou  de- 
mandest !"  answered  Marie.  "  Would  that  those  lessons  had 
brought  conviction  !  The  bitter  agony  of  your  Grace's  dis 
pleasure — of  feeling  that,  while  my  heart  so  throbs  and  swells 
with  grateful  devotion  that  I  would  gladly  die  to  serve  thee, 
yet  the  proof  thou  demandest  I  cannot  give ;  and  I  must  go 
down  to  an  early  grave,  leaving  with  thee  the  sole  impression 
that  thou  hadst  cherished  a  miserable  ingrate,  whom,  even  as 


228  THE    VALE   OF    CbDARS ] 

thou  hast  loved,  so  thou  must  now  hate  and  scorn.  Oh,  ma 
dam!  try  me  by  other  proof!  My  creed  maybe  the  mis 
taken  one  it  seems  to  thee ;  but,  oh !  it  is  no  garment  we 
may  wear  and  cast  off  at  pleasure.  Have  mercy,  gracious 
Sovereign  !  condemn  me  not  as  reprobate — hardened — more 
insensible  than  the  veriest  cur,  who  is  grateful  for  the  kind 
ness  of  his  master ! — because  I  love  my  faith  better  even  than 
thy  love — the  dearest  earthly  joy  now  left  me." 

"  Methinks  scarcely  the  dearest,"  replied  Isabella,  affect 
ed,  in  spite  of  her  every  effort  for  control ;  "  but  of  that  hers 
after.  Marie,  I  have  pledged  myself  to  my  confessor,  not  to 
let  this  matter  rest.  He  has  told  me  that  my  very  affection 
for  thee  is  a  snare,  and  must  be  sacrificed  if  it  interfere  with 
my  duty ;  not  alone  as  member  of  Christ's  church,  but  as 
Sovereign  of  a  Catholic  realm,  whose  bounden  duty  it  is  to 
purge  away  all  heresy  and  misbelief.  I  feel  that  he  is  right, 
and,  cost  what  it  may,  Christ's  dictates  must  be  obeyed. 
The  years  of  fraud — of  passing  for  what  thou  wert  not — I 
forgive,  for  thy  noble  husband's  sake ;  but  my  confessor  has 
told  me,  and  I  feel  its  truth,  that  if  we  allow  thy  return  to 
thy  people  as  thou  art  now,  we  permit  a  continuance  of  such 
unnatural  unions,  encourage  fraud,  and  expose  our  subjects 
to  the  poisonous  taint  of  Jewish  blood  and  unbelief.  A 
Christian  thou  must  become.  The  plan  we  have  decided 
upon  must  bring  conviction  at  last ;  but  it  will  be  attended 
with  such  long  years  of  mental  and  physical  suffering,  that 
we  shrink  from  the  alternative,  and  only  thine  own  obstinacy 
will  force  us  to  adopt  it." 

She  paused  for  above  a  minute ;  but  though  Marie's  very 
lips  had  blanched,  and  her  large  eyes  were  fixed  in  terror  on 
the  Queen's  face,  there  was  no  answer. 

"  Thou  hast  more  than  once  alluded  to  death,"  Isabella 
continued,  her  voice  growing  sterner ;  "  but,  though  such  may 
be  the  punishment  demanded,  we  cannot  so  completely  ban 
ish  regard  as  to  expose  thy  soul,  as  well  as  body,  to  undying 
flames.  Thou  hast  heard,  perchance,  of  holy  sisterhoods, 
who,  sacrificing  all  of  earthly  joys  and  earthly  ties,  devote 
themselves  as  the  willing  brides  of  Christ,  and  pass  their 
whole  lives  in  acts  of  personal  penance,  mortification,  self- 
denial,  and  austerity ;  which  to  all,  save  those  impelled  by 
this  same  lofty  enthusiasm,  would  be  unendurable.  T'^ 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  229 

convent  of  St.  Ursula  is  the  most  strictly  rigid  and  unpity- 
ing  of  this  sternly  rigid  school ;  and  there,  if  still  thou  wilt 
not  retract,  thou  wilt  be  for  life  immured,  to  learn  that  reve 
rence,  that  submission,  that  belief,  which  thou  refusest  now. 
Ponder  well  on  all  the  suffering  which  this  sentence  must 
comprise.  It  is  even  to  us — a  Christian — -so  dreadful,  that 
we  would  not  impose  it,  could  we  save  thy  deluded  spirit  by 
any  other  means.  The  Abbess,  from  the  strict  and  terrible 
discipline  of  long  years,  has  conquered  every  womanly  weak 
ness  ;  and  to  a  Jewess  placed  under  her  charge,  to  be  brought 
a  penitent  to  the  bosom  of  the  Virgin,  is  not  likely  to  de 
crease  the  severity  of  treatment  and  discipline,  the  portion 
even  of  her  own.  Once  delivered  to  her  charge,  we  interfere 
no  further.  Whatever  she  may  command — short  of  actual 
torture,  or  death — thou  must  endure.  Marie  !  wilt  thou 
tempt  a  doom  like  this  ?  In  mercy  to  thyself,  retract  ere  it 
be  too  late !" 

"  If  I  can  bear  the  loss  of  thy  favor,  my  Sovereign,  I  can 
bear  this,"  replied  Marie,  slowly  and  painfully.  "There 
is  more  suffering  in  the  thought,  that  your  Grace's  love  is 
lost  for  ever ;  that  I  shall  never  see  your  Highness  more ; 
and  thou  must  ever  think  of  me  as  only  a  wretched,  feeling- 
less  ingrate,  than  in  all  the  bodily  and  mental  anguish  such 
a  life  may  bring." 

"  Marie  !"  exclaimed  Isabella,  with  an  irrepressible  burst 
of  natural  feeling.  And  Marie  had  darted  forwards,  and  was 
kneeling  at  her  feet,  and  covering  her  hand  with  tears  and 
kisses,  ere  she  had  power  to  forcibly  subdue  the  emotion  and 
speak  again. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  she  said  at  length ;  but  she  did  not 
withdraw  the  hand  which  Marie  still  convulsively  clasped, 
and,  half  unconsciously  it  seemed,  she  put  back  the  long, 
black  tresses,  which  had  fallen  over  her  colorless  cheek,  look 
ed  sadly  in  that  bowed  face,  and  kissed  her  brow.  "  It  is 
the  last,"  she  murmured  to  herself.  "  It  may  be  the  effects 
of  sorcery — it  may  be  sin ;  but  if  I  do  penance  for  the  weak 
ness,  it  must  have  way." 

"  Thou  hast  heard  the  one  alternative,"  she  continued 
aloud  ;  "  now  hear  the  other.  We  have  thought  long,  and 
watched  well,  some  means  of  effectually  obliterating  the 
painful  memories  of  the  past,  and  making  thy  life  as  happy 


23C  THE    VALE   OF   CEDARS ] 

as  it  has  been  sad.  We  have  asked  and  received  permission 
from  our  confessor  to  bring  forward  a  temporal  inducement 
for  a  spiritual  end ;  that  even  the  affections  themselves  may  be 
made  conducive  to  turning  a  benighted  spirit  from  the  path  of 
death  into  that  of  life ;  and,  therefore,  we  may  proceed  more 
hopefully.  Marie !  is  there  not  a  love  thou  valuest  even 
more  than  mine  ?  Nay,  attempt  not  to  deny  a  truth,  which 
we  have  known  from  the  hour  we  told  thee  that  Arthur  Stan 
ley  was  thy  husband's  murderer.  What  meant  those  wild 
words  imploring  me  to  save  him  ?  For  what  was  the  avowal 
of  thy  faith,  but  that  thy  witness  should  not  endanger  him  ? 
Why  didst  thou  return  to  danger  when  safety  was  before 
thee  ? — peril  thine  own  life  but  to  save  his  ?  Answer  me 
truly :  thou  lovest  Stanley,  Marie  ?" 

"  I  have  loved  him,  gracious  Sovereign." 

"And  thou  dost  no  longer?  Marie,  methinks  there 
would  be  less  wrong  in  loving  now,  than  when  we  first  sus 
pected  it,"  rejoined  the  Queen,  gravely. 

"  Alas  !  my  liege,  who  may  school  the  heart  ?  He  was 
its  first — first  affection  !  But,  oh  !  my  Sovereign,  I  never 
wronged  my  noble  husband.  He  knew  it  all  ere  he  was  taken 
from  me,  and  forgave  and  loved  me  still ;  and,  oh !  had  he 
been  but  spared,  even  memory  itself  would  have  lost  its  pow 
er  to  sting.  His  trust,  his  love,  had  made  me  all — all  his 
own  !» 

"  I  believe  thee,  my  poor  child ;  but  how  came  it  that, 
loving  Stanley,  thy  hand  was  given  to  Morales  ?" 

For  the  first  time,  the  dangerous  ground  on  which  she 
stood  flashed  on  the  mind  of  Marie ;  and  her  voice  faltered 
as  she  answered — "  My  father  willed  it,  Madam." 

"  Thy  father  !  And  was  he  of  thy  faith,  yet  gave  his  child 
to  one  of  us  ?" 

"  He  was  dying,  Madam,  and  there  was  none  to  protect 
his  Marie.  He  loved  and  admired  him  to  whom  he  gave  me  ; 
for  Ferdinand  had  never  scorned  nor  persecuted  us.  He  had 
done  us  such  good  service  that  my  father  sought  to  repay 
him  ;  but  he  would  accept  nothing  but  my  hand,  and  swore 
to  protect  my  faith — none  other  would  have  made  such  prom 
ise.  I  was  weak,  I  know,  and  wrong ;  but  I  dared  not  then 
confess  I  loved  another.  And,  once  his  wife,  it  was  sin  even 
to  think  of  Arthur.  Oh,  Madam  !  night  and  day  I  prayed 
lat  we  might  never  meet,  till  all  of  love  was  conquered." 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  231 

"  Poor  child,"  replied  Isabella,  kindly.  "  But,  since  thou 
wert  once  more  free,  since  Stanley  was  cleared  of  even 
the  suspicion  of  guilt,  has  no  former  feeling  for  him  return 
ed  !  He  loves  thee,  Marie,  with  such  faithful  love  as  in  man 
I  have  seldom  seen  equalled  ;  why  check  affection  now  ?" 

"  Alas  !  my  liege,  what  may  a  Jewess  be  to  him  ;  or  his 
love  to  me,  save  as  the  most  terrible  temptation  to  estrange 
me  from  my  God  ?" 

"  Say  rather  to  gently  lure  thee  to  Him,  Marie,"  replied 
Isabella,  earnestly.  "  There  is  a  thick  veil  between  thy  heart 
and  thy  God  now ;  let  the  love  thou  bearest  this  young  Eng 
lishman  be  the  blessed  means  of  removing  it,  and  bringing 
thee  to  the  sole  source  of  salvation,  the  Saviour  Stanley  wor 
ships.  One  word — one  little  word — from  thee,  and  thou 
shalt  be  Stanley's  wife !  His  own ;  dearer  than  ever  from 
the  trials  of  the  past.  Oh  !  speak  it,  Marie  !  Let  me  feel  I 
have  saved  thee  from  everlasting  torment,  and  made  this  life 
— in  its  deep,  calm  joy — a  foretaste  of  the  heaven  that,  as 
a  Christian,  will  await  thee  above.  Spare  Stanley — aye,  and 
thy  Sovereign — the  bitter  grief  of  losing  thee  for  ever  !" 

"  Would — would  I  could !"  burst  wildly  from  the  heart- 
stricken  Marie  ;  and  she  wrung  her  hands  in  that  one  mo 
ment  of  intense  agony,  and  looked  up  in  the  Queen's  face, 
with  an  expression  of  suffering  Isabella  could  not  meet. 
"  Would  that  obedience,  conviction,  could  come  at  will !  His 
wife? — Stanley's.  To  rest  this  desolate  heart  on  his?  To 
weep  upon  his  bosom  ? — feel  his  arm  around  me  ? — his  love 
protect  me  ?  To  be  his — all  his  1  And  only  on  condition 
of  speaking  one  little  word  1  Oh  !  why  can  I  not  speak  it  ? 
Why  will  that  dread  voice  sound  within,  telling  me  I  dare 
not — cannot — for  I  do  not  believe?  How  dare  I  take  the 
Christians's  vow,  embrace  the  cross,  and  in  my  heart  remain 
a  Jewess  still?" 

"  Embrace  the  cross,  and  conviction  will  follow,"  replied 
the  Queen.  "  This  question  we  have  asked  of  Father  Tomas, 
and  been  assured  that  the  vows  of  baptism  once  taken, 
grace  will  be  found  from  on  high  ;  and  to  the  heart,  as  well 
as  lip,  conversion  speedily  ensue.  Forswear  the  blaspheming 
errors  of  thy  present  creed — consent  to  be  baptized — and 
that  very  hour  sees  thee  Stanley's  wife  !" 

u  No,  no,  no  ! — Oh  !  say  not  such  words  again  !    My  liege, 


232  THE   VALE    OF   CEDARS J 

my  gracious  liege,  tempt  not  this  weak  spirit  more  !"  im 
plored  Marie,  in  fearful  agitation.  "  Oh  !  if  thou  hast  ever 
loved  me,  in  mercy  spare  me  this  !" 

"  In  mercy  is  it  that  we  do  thus  speak,  unhappy  girl."  re 
plied  Isabella,  with  returning  firmness  ;  for  she  saw  the  de 
cisive  moment  had  come.  u  We  have  laid  both  alternatives 
before  thee ;  it  rests  with  thee  alone  to  make  thine  own 
election.  Love  on  earth  and  joy  in  Heaven,  depends  upon 
one  word :  refuse  to  speak  it,  and  thou  knowest  thy  doom  !" 

It  was  well,  perhaps,  for  Marie's  firmness,  that  the 
Queen's  appealing  tone  had  given  place  to  returning  severi 
ty  ;  it  recalled  the  departing  strength — the  sinking  energy — 
the  power  once  more  to  endure  I  For  several  minutes  there 
was  no  sound :  Marie  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  .and 
remained — half  kneeling,  half  crouching — on  the  cushion  at 
the  Queen's  feet,  motionless  as  stone ;  and  Isabella — inter 
nally  as  agitated  as  herself — was,  under  the  veil  of  unbending 
sternness,  struggling  for  control.  The  contending  emotions 
sweeping  over  that  frail  woman-heart  in  that  fearful  period 
of  indecision  we  pretend  not  to  describe :  again  and  again  the 
terrible  temptation  came,  to  say  but  the  desired  word,  and 
happiness  was  hers — such  intense  happiness,  that  her  brain 
reeled  beneath  its  thought  of  ecstasy ;  and  again  and  again 
it  was  driven  back  by  that  thrilling  voice — louder  than  ever 
in  its  call — to  remain  faithful  to  her  God.  It  was  a  fearful 
contest ;  and  when  she  did  look  up,  Isabella  started  ;  so  ter 
ribly  was  its  index  inscribed  on  those  white  and  chiselled 
features. 

She  rose  slowly,  and  stood  before  the  Sovereign,  her  hands 
tightly  clasped  together,  and  the  veins  on  her  forehead  raised 
like  cords  across  it.  Three  times  she  tried  to  speak ;  but 
only  unintelligible  murmurs  came,  and  her  lips  shook  as 
with  convulsion.  "  It  is  over,"  she  said  at  length,  and  her 
usually  sweet  voice  sounded  harsh  and  unnatural.  "  The 
weakness  is  conquered,  gracious  Sovereign,  condemn,  scorn, 
hate  me  as  thou  wilt,  thou  must :  I  must  endure  it  till  my 
heart  breaks,  and  death  brings  release ;  but  the  word  thou 
demandest  I  cannot  speak !  Thy  favor,  Arthur's  love,  I  re 
sign  them  all !  'Tis  the  bidding  of  my  God,  and  he  will 
strengthen  me  to  bear  it.  Imprison,  torture,  slay,  with  the 
lingering  misery  of  a  broken  heart,  but  I  cannot  deny  my 
faith  !" 


OR,   THE   MARTYR. 


Disappointed,  grieved,  as  she  was  at  this  unexpected  re 
ply  Isabella  was  too  much  an  enthusiast  in  religion  herself 
not  to  understand  the  feeling  which  dictated  it ;  and  much 
as  she  still  abhorred  the  faith,  the  martyr  spirit  which  could 
thus  immolate  the  most  fervid,  the  most  passionate  emotions 
of  woman's  nature  at  the  shrine  of  her  God,  stirred  a  sym 
pathetic  chord  in  her  own  heart,  and  so  moved  her,  that  the 
stern  words  she  had  intended  to  speak  were  choked  within 

"  We  must  summon  those  then  to  whose  charge  we  are 
pledged  to  commit  thee,"  she  said  with  difficulty  ;  and  hasti 
ly  rung  a  silver  bell  beside  her.  _  "We  had  hoped  such  would 
not  have  been  needed  ;  but,  as  it  is J 

She  paused  abruptly;  for  the  hangings  were  hastily 
pushed  aside,  and,  instead  of  the  stern  figure  of  Torquemada, 
who  was  to  have  obeyed  the  signal,  the  Infanta  Isabella 
eagerly  entered  ;  and  ran  up  to  the  Queen,  with  childish  and 
caressing  glee  at  being  permitted  to  rejoin  her.  The  con 
fessor—not  imagining  his  presence  would  be  needed,  or  that 
he  would  return  to  his  post  in  time— had  restlessly  obeyed 
the  summons  of  a  brother  prelate,  and,  in  some  important 
clerical  details,  forgot  the  mandate  of  his  Sovereign. 

Marie  saw  the  softened  expression  of  the  Queens 
face-  the  ineffectual  effort  to  resist  her  child's  caresses, 
and  retain  her  sternness  :  and,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  she 
threw  herself  at  her  feet. 

"  Oh !  do  not  turn  from  me,  my  Sovereign !  she 
implored,  wildly  clasping  Isabella's  knees.  "I  ask 
nothing— nothing,  but  to  return  to  my  childhoods 
home,  and  die  there  !  I  ask  not  to  return  to  my  people ; 
they  would  not  receive  me,  for  I  have  dared  to  love  the 
stranger  ;  but  in  my  own  isolated  home,  where  but  two  aged 
retainers  of  my  father  dwell,  I  can  do  harm  to  none— mingle 
with  none ;  let  me  bear  a  breaking  heart  for  a  brief— brief 
while ;  and  rest  beside  my  parents.  I  will  swear  to  thee 
never  to  quit  that  place  of  banishment— swear  never  more  to 
mingle  with  either  thy  people  or  with  mine— to  be  as  much 
lost  to  man,  as  if  the  grave  had  already  closed  over  me,  or 
convent  walls  immured  me!  Oh,  Madam!  grant  me  but 
this  !  Will  it  not  be  enough  of  suffering  to  give  up  Arthur  ? 
—to  tear  myself  from  thy  cherishing  love?— to  bear  my 


234  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS) 

misery  alone?  Leave  me,  oh  !  leave  me  but  my  faith — the 
sole  joy,  sole  hope,  now  left  me !  Give  me  not  up  to  the  harsh 
and  cruel  father — the  stern  mother  of  St.  Ursula !  If  I  can 
sacrifice  love,  kindness — all  that  would  make  earth  a  heaven 
— will  harshness  gain  thine  end  ?  Plead  for  me,"  she  con 
tinued,  addressing  the  infant-princess,  who,  as  if  affected  by 
the  grief  she  beheld,  had  left  her  mother  to  cling  round 
Marie  caressingly ;  "  plead  for  me,  Infanta  !  Oh,  Madam  ! 
the  fate  of  war  might  place  this  beloved  and  cherished  one 
in  the  hands  of  those  who  regard  thy  faith  even  as  thou  dost 
mine ;  were  such  an  alternative  proffered,  how  wouldst  thou 
she  should  decide  ?  My  Sovereign,  my  gracious  Sovereign, 
oh,  have  mercy !" 

"  Mamma !  dear  Mamma !"  repeated  the  princess  at  the 
same  moment,  and  aware  that  her  intercession  was  required, 
though  unable  to  comprehend  the  wherefore,  she  clasped  her 
little  hands  entreatingly ;  "  grant  poor  Marie  what  she 
wishes  !  You  have  told  me  a  Queen's  first  duty  is  to  be 
kind  and  good ;  and  do  all  in  her  power  to  make  others 
happy.  Make  her  happy,  dear  Mamma,  she  has  been  so 
sad  !" 

The  appeal  to  Isabella's  nature  was  irresistible  ;  she 
caught  her  child  to  her  heart,  and  burst  into  passionate 
tears. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

"  I  will  have  vengeance ! 

I'll  crush  thy  swelling  pride !    I'll  still  thy  vaunting ! 
I'll  do  a  deed  of  blood ! 

Now  all  idle  forms  are  over — 
Now  open  villany,  now  open  hate- 
Defend  thy  life !" 

JOANNA  BAILLIE. 

"  Let  me  but  look  upon  '  her '  face  once  more — 
Let  me  but  say  farewell,  my  soul's  beloved, 
And  I  will  bless  thee  still." 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

SOME  time  had  elapsed  since  King  Ferdinand  and  his  splendid 
army  had  quitted  Saragossa.    He  himself  had  not  as  yet  head- 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  235 

ed  any  important  expedition,  but  fixing  his  head-quarters  at 
Seville,  dispatched  thence  various  detachments  under  experi 
enced  officers,  to  make  sallies  on  the  Moors,  who  had  already 
enraged  the  Christian  camp  by  the  capture  of  Zahara.  Arthur 
Stanley  was  with  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  when  this  insult  was 
ably  avenged  by  the  taking  of  Albania,  a  most  important  post, 
situated  within  thirty  miles  of  the  capital.  The  Spaniards 
took  possession  of  the  city,  massacred  many  of  the  inhabit 
ants,  placed  strong  restrictions  on  those  who  surrendered,  and 
strongly  garrisoned  every  tower  and  fort.  Nor  were  they 
long  inactive :  the  Moors  resolved  to  retake  what  they  con 
sidered  the  very  threshold  of  their  capital ;  hastily  assembled 
their  forces,  and  regularly  entered  upon  the  siege. 

While  at  Seville,  the  camp  of  Ferdinand  had  been  joined 
by  several  foreign  chevaliers,  amongst  whom  was  an  Italian 
knight,  who  had  excited  the  attention  and  curiosity  of  many 
of  the  younger  Spaniards  from  the  mystery  environing  him. 
He  was  never  seen  without  his  armor.  His  helmet  always 
closed,  keeping  surlily  aloof,  he  never  mingled  in  the  brilliant 
jousts  and  tournaments  of  the  camp,  except  when  Arthur 
Stanley  chanced  to  be  one  of  the  combatants  :  he  was  then 
sure  to  be  found  in  the  lists,  and  always  selected  the  young 
Englishman  as  his  opponent.  At  first  this  strange  pertina 
city  was  regarded  more  as  a  curious  coincidence  than  actual 
design ;  but  it  occurred  so  often,  that  at  length  it  excited 
remark.  Arthur  himself  laughed  it  off,  suggesting  that  the 
Italian  had  perhaps  some  grudge  against  England,  and 
wished  to  prove  the  mettle  of  her  sons.  The  Italian  deigned 
no  explanation,  merely  saying  that  he  supposed  the  Spanish 
jousts  were  governed  by  the  same  laws  as  others,  and  he  was 
therefore  at  liberty  to  choose  his  own  opponent.  But  Arthur 
was  convinced  that  some  cause  existed  for  this  mysterious 
hostility.  Not  wishing  to  create  public  confusion,  he  con 
tended  himself  by  keeping  a  watch  upon  his  movements. 
He  found,  however,  that  he  did  not  watch  more  carefully 
than  he  was  watched,  and  incensed  at  length,  he  resolved  on 
calling  his  enemy  publicly  to  account  for  his  dishonorable 
conduct.  This,  however,  he  found  much  easier  in  theory 
than  practice.  The  wily  Italian,  as  if  aware  of  his  intentions, 
skilfully  eluded  them ;  and  as  weeks  passed  without  any  re 
currence  of  their  secret  attacks,  Stanley,  guided  by  his  own 


frank  and  honorable  feelings,  believed  his  suspicions  ground 
less,  and  dismissed  them  altogether.  On  the  tumultuary  en 
trance  of  the  Spaniards,  however,  these  suspicions  were  re-ex 
cited.  Separated  by  the  press  of  contending  warriors  from 
the  main  body  of  his  men,  Stanley  plunged  headlong  into  the 
thickest  battalion  of  Moors,  intending  to  cut  his  way  through 
them  to  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  who  was  at  that  moment  en 
tering  the  town.  His  unerring  arm  and  lightness  of  move 
ment  bore  him  successfully  onward.  A  very  brief  space 
divided  him  from  his  friends :  the  spirited  charger  on  which 
he  rode,  cheered  by  his  hand  and  voice,  with  one  successful 
bound  cleared  the  remaining  impediments  in  his  way,  but  at 
that  moment,  with  a  piercing  cry  of  suffering,  sprung  high  in 
the  air  and  fell  dead,  nearly  crushing  his  astonished  master 
with  his  weight.  Happily  for  Stanley,  the  despairing  anguish 
of  vhe  Moors  at  that  moment  at  its  height,  from  the  triumph 
ant  entry  of  the  Spaniards  into  their  beloved  Alhama,  aggra 
vated  by  the  shrieks  of  the  victims  in  the  unsparing  slaughter, 
effectually  turned  the  attention  of  those  around  him  from  his 
fall.  He  sprung  up,  utterly  unable  to  account  for  the  death 
of  his  steed :  the  dastard  blow  had  been  dealt  from  behind, 
arid  no  Moor  had  been  near  but  those  in  front.  .  He  looked 
hastily  round  him:  a  tall  figure  was  retreating  through  the 
thickening  meUe,  whose  dull,  red  armor,  and  deep,  black 
plume,  discovered  on  the  instant  his  identity.  Arthur's 
blood  tingled  with  just  indignation,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  restrained  himself  from  following,  and  demanding 
on  the  instant,  and  at  the  sword's  point,  the  meaning  of  the 
deed. 

The  sudden  start,  and  muttered  execration  of  the  Italian, 
as  Stanley  joined  the  victorious  group  around  the  Marquis, 
convinced  him  that  his  reappearance,  and  unhurt,  was  quite 
contrary  to  his  mysterious  enemy's  intention.  The  exciting 
events  of  the  siege  which  followed,  the  alternate  hope  and 
fear  of  the  Spaniards,  reduced  to  great  distress  by  the  Moors 
having  succeeded  in  turning  the  course  of  a  river  which 
supplied  the  city  with  water,  and  finally,  the  timely  arrival 
of  succors  under  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  which  com 
pelled  the  Moors  to  raise  the  siege  and  disperse — the  rejoic 
ing  attendant  on  so  great  and  almost  unexpected  a  triumph, 
all  combined  to  prevent  any  attention  to  individual  concerns. 


OR.    THE    MARTYR.  237 

The  Italian  had  not  crossed  Arthur's  path  again,  except  in 
the  general  attack  or  defence  ;  and  Stanley  found  the  best 
means  of  conquering  his  own  irritation  towards  such  secret 
machinations,  was  to  treat  them  with  indifference  and  con 
tempt. 

The  halls  of  Alhama  were  of  course  kept  strongly  manned; 
and  a  guard,  under  an  experienced  officer,  constantly  occu 
pied  the  summit  of  a  lofty  tower,  situated  on  a  precipitous 
neight  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  open  country  for 
miles,  and  overlooked  the  most  distant  approach  of  the 
Moors.  As  was  usual  to  Moorish  architecture,  the  tcwer 
nad  been  erected  on  a  rock,  which  on  one  side  shelved  down 
so  straight  and  smooth,  as  to  appear  a  continuance  of  the 
tower-wall,  but  forming  ./rom  the  battlements  a  precipice 
some  thousand  feet  in  depth.  The  strongest  nerve  turned 
sick  and  giddy  to  look  beneath,  and  the  side  of  the  tower 
overlooking  it  was  almost  always  kept  unguarded. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  Stanley,  who  was  that  night 
on  command,  after  completing  his  rounds,  and  perceiving 
every  sentinel  on  duty,  found  himself  unconsciously  on  the 
part  of  the  tower  we  have  named.  So  pre-occupied  was  his 
mind,  that  he  looked  beneath  him  without  shrinking;  and 
then  retracing  his  steps  some  twenty  or  thirty  yards  from  the 
immediate  and  unprotected  edge,  wrapped  his  mantle  closely 
round  him,  and  lying  down,  rested  his  head  on  his  arm,  and 
permitted  the  full  dominion  of  thought.  He  was  in  that 
dreamy  mood,  when  the  silence  and  holiness  of  nature  is  so 
much  more  soothing  than  even  the  dearest  sympathy  of  man ; 
when  er^ry  passing  cloud  and  distant  star,  and  moaning 
wind,  speaks  with  a  hundred  tongues,  and  the  immaterial 
spirit  holds  unconscious  commune  with  beings  invisible,  and 
immaterial  as  itself.  Above  his  head,  heavy  clouds  floated 
over  the  dark  azure  of  'the  heavens,  sometimes  totally  ob 
scuring  the  mild  light  of  the  full  moon ;  at  others  merely 
shrouding  her  beams  in  a  transparent  veil,  from  which  she 
would  burst  resplendently,  sailing  majestically  along,  seem 
ing  the  more  light  and  lovely  from  the  previous  shade.  One 
brilliant  planet  followed  closely  on  her  track,  and  as  the 
dark  masses  of  clouds  would  rend  asunder,  portions  of  the 
heavens,  studded  with  glittering  stars,  were  visible,  seeming 
like  the  gemmed  dome  of  some  mighty  temple,  whose  walls 


238 


THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS  J 


and  pillars,  shrouded  in  black  drapery,  were  lost  in  the  dis 
tance  on  either  side.  Gradually,  Stanley's  thoughts  became 
indistinct ;  the  stars  seemed  to  lose  their  radiance,  as  covered 
by  a  light  mist ;  a  dark  cloud  appearing,  in  his  half  dormant 
fancy,  to  take  the  gigantic  proportions  of  a  man,  hovered  on 
the  battlement.  It  became  smaller  and  smaller,  but  still  it 
seemed  a  cloud,  through  which  the  moonlight  gleamed ;  but 
a  thrill  passed  through  him,  as  if  telling  of  some  impalpable 
and  indefinable  object  of  dread.  With  a  sudden  effort  he 
shook  off  the  lethargy  of  half  sleep,  and  sprung  to  his  feet,  at 
the  very  moment  a  gleaming  sword  was  pointed  at  his  throat. 
"  Ha,  villain  !  at  thy  murderous  work  again  !"  he  exclaimed, 
and  another  moment  beheld  him  closed  in  deadly  conflict 
with  his  mysterious  foe.  A  deep  and  terrible  oath,  and  then 
a  mocking  laugh,  escaped  his  adversary ;  and  something  in 
those  sounds,  nerved  Stanley's  arms  with  resistless  power : 
he  was  sure  he  could  not  be  mistaken,  and  he  fought,  not 
with  the  unguarded  desire  of  one  eager  to  obtain  satisfaction 
for  personal  injury — but  he  was  calm,  cool,  collected,  as 
threefold  an  avenger.  For  once,  the  demon-like  caution  of 
the  supposed  Italian  deserted  him :  discovery  was  inevitable, 
and  his  sole  aim  was  to  compass  the  death  of  the  hated 
foreigner  with  his  own.  He  tried  gradually  to  retreat  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  precipice,  and  Stanley's  calm  and  cau 
tious  avoidance  of  the  design  lashed  him  into  yet  fiercer 
desperation.  Thick  and  fast,  fell  those  tremendous  blows. 
The  Italian  had  the  advantage  in  height  and  size,  Stanley  in 
steady  coolness  and  prudent  guard  ;  the  Italian  sought  only 
to  slay  his  adversary,  caring  not  to  defend  himself;  Arthur 
evidently  endeavored  merely  to  unhelm  the  traitor,  and 
bring  him  but  slightly  wounded  to  the  ground.  For  several 
minutes  there  was  no  cessation  in  that  fearful  clash  of  steel ; 
the  strokes  were  so  rapid,  so  continued,  a  hundred  combat 
ants  might  have  seemed  engaged.  A  moment  they  drew 
back,  as  if  to  breathe  ;  the  Italian,  with  a  despairing  effort, 
raised  his  weapon  and  sprung  forwards ;  Arthur  lightly 
leaped  aside,  and  the  murderous  stroke  clove  but  the  yield 
ing  earth.  Another  second,  and  ere  the  Italian  had  regained 
his  equilibrium,  Arthur's  sword  had  descended  with  so  true 
and  sure  a  stroke  that  the  clasp  of  the  helmet  gave  way,  the 
dark  blood  bubbled  up  from  the  cloven  brow,  he  reeled  and 


OR,   THE   MARTYR.  239 

fell ;  and  a  long,  loud  shout  from  the  officers  and  soldiers, 
who,  at  the  sound  of  arms,  had  flocked  round,  proclaimed 
some  stronger  feeling  than  simply  admiration  of  Stanley's 
well-known  prowess. 

"  Seize  him  !  seize  him  !  or  by  Heaven  he  will  escape  us 
yet !"  were  among  the  few  words  intelligible.  "  The  daring 
villain,  -to  come  amongst  us  !  Did  he  think  for  ever  \o  elude 
Heaven's  vengeance  ?  Bind,  fetter,  hold  him ;  or  his  assist 
ant  fiends  will  release  him  still !" 

Fiercely  the  fallen  man  had  striven  to  extricate  hin,self ; 
but  Stanley's  knee  moved  not  from  his  breast,  nor  his  sword 
from  his  throat,  until  a  strong  guard  had  raised  and  sur 
rounded  him :  but  the  horrible  passions  imprinted  on  those 
lived  features  were  such,  that  his  very  captors  turned  away 
shuddering. 

"  Hadst  thou  not  had  enough  of  blood  and  crime,  thou 
human  monster,  that  thou  wouldst  stain  thy  already  blacken 
ed  soul  with  another  midnight  murder  ?"  demanded  Stanley, 
as  he  sternly  confronted  his  baffled  foe.  "  Don  Luis  Garcia, 
as  men  have  termed  thee,  what  claim  have  I  on  thy  pursu 
ing  and  unchanging  hate  ?  With  what  dost  thou  charge  me  ? 
What  wrong  ?" 

"  Wrong  !"  hoarsely  and  fiercely  repeated  Don  Louis. 
"  The  wrong  of  baffled  hate  ;  of  success,  when  I  planned  thy 
downfall ;  of  escape,  when  I  had  sworn  thy  death  !  Did  the 
drivelling  idiots,  who  haunted,  persecuted,  excommunicated 
me  from  these  realms,  as  some  loathed  reptile,  dream  that  I 
would  draw  back  from  my  sworn  vengeance  for  such  as  they? 
Poor,  miserable  fools,  whom  the  first  scent  of  danger  would 
turn  aside  from  the  pursuit  of  hate !  I  staked  my  life  on 
thine,  and  the  stake  is  lost ;  but  what  care  I  ?  My  hate  shall 
follow  thee ;  wither  thy  bones  with  its  curse ;  poison  every 
joy ;  blight  every  hope  ;  rankle  in  thy  life  blood  f  Bid  thee 
seek  health,  and  bite  the  dust  for  anguish  because  it  flies 
thee  !  And  for  me.  Ha,  ha  !  Men  may  think  to  judge  me 
— torture,  triumph,  slay!  Well,  let  them."  And  with  a 
movement  so  sudden  and  so  desperate,  that  to  avert  it  was 
impossible,  he  burst  from  the  grasp  of  his  guards ;  and  with 
one  spring,  stood  firm  and  triumphant  on  the  farthest  edge 
of  the  battlement.  "  Now  follow  me  who  dares !"  he  ex 
claimed;  and,  with  a  fearful  mocking  laugh,  flung  himself 


240  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS j 

headlong  down,  ere  the  soldiers  had  recovered  his  first  sud 
den  movement.  Stanley  alone  retained  presence  of  mind 
sufficient  to  dart  forward,  regardless  of  his  own  imminent 
danger,  in  the  vain  hope  of  arresting  the  leap  :  but  quick  as 
were  his  movements,  he  only  reached  the  brink  in  time  to 
see  the  wretched  man,  one  moment  quivering  in  air,  and  lost 
the  next  in  a  dark  abyss  of  shade. 

A  cry  of  mingled  disappointment,  horror,  and  execration, 
burst  from  all  around ;  and  several  of  the  soldiers  hastened 
from  the  battlements  to  the  base  of  the  rock,  determined  on 
fighting  the  arch-fiend  himself,  if,  as  many  of  them  firmly 
believed,  he  had  rendered  Don  Luis  invulnerable  to  air,  and 
would  wait  there  to  receive  him.  But  even  this  heroic  reso 
lution  was  disappointed :  the  height  was  so  tremendous,  and 
the  velocity  of  the  fall  so  frightful,  that  the  action  of  the  air 
had  not  only  deprived  him  of  life,  but  actually  loosed  the  limbs 
from  the  trunk,  and  a  fearfully  mangled  corpse  was  all  that 
remained  to  glut  the  vengeance  of  the  infuriated  soldiers. 

The  confusion  and  excitement  attending  this  important 
event,  spread  like  wildfire  ;  not  only  over  Alhama,  but  reach 
ing  to  the  Duke's  camp  without  the  city.  To  send  off  the 
momentous  information  to  the  King,  was  instantly  decided 
upon;  and  young  Stanley,  as  the  person  principally  con 
cerned,  selected  for  the  mission. 

Ferdinand  was  astonished  and  indignant,  and  greatly 
disappointed  that  justice  had  been  so  eluded  ;  but  that  such 
a  monster,  whose  machinations  seemed,  in  their  subtlety  and 
secrecy,  to  prevent  all  defeat,  no  longer  cumbered  Spain,  was 
in  itself  a  relief  so  great  both  to  monarch  and  people,  as  after 
the  first  burst  of  indignation  to  cause  universal  rejoicings. 

It  so  happened  that  Ferdinand  had  been  desirous  of 
Stanley's  presence  for  some  weeks  ;  letters  from  Isabella, 
some  little  time  previous,  had  expressed  an  earnest  desire  for 
the  young  man's  return  to  Saragossa.  if  only  for  a  visit  of  a 
few  days.  This  was  'then  impossible.  Three  months  had 
elapsed  since  Isabella's  first  communication ;  within  the  last 
two  she  had  not  again  reverted  to  Stanley;  but  the  King, 
thinking  she  had  merely  refrained  from  doing  so,  because  of 
its  present  impossibility,  gladly  seized  the  opportunity  of  his 
appearance  at  Seville,  to  dispatch  him,  as  envoy  extraordi 
nary,  on  both  public  and  private  business,  to  the  court  of 
Arragon. 


OR, 


241 


Isabella  was  surrounded  by  her  ministers  and  nobles 
when  Stanley  was  conducted  to  her  presence ;  she  received 
him  with  cordiality  and  graciousness,  asked  many  and  eager 
questions  concerning  her  husband  and  the  progress  of  his 
arms,  entered  minutely  into  the  affair  of  Don  Luis,  congrat 
ulated  him  on  his  having  been  the  hand  destined  to  unmask 
the  traitor  and  bring  him  low ;  gave  her  full  attention  on 
the  instant  to  the  communications  from  the  King,  with  which 
he  was  charged ;  occupied  some  hours  in  earnest  and 
thoughtful  deliberation  with  her  counsel,  which,  on  perusal 
of  the  King's  papers,  she  had  summoned  directly.  And  yet, 
through  all  this,  Arthur  fancied  there  was  an  even  unusual 
degree  of  sympathy  and  kindliness  in  the  tone  and  look  with 
which  she  addressed  him  individually ;  but  he  felt  intuitive 
ly  it  was  sympathy  with  sorrow,  not  with  joy.  He  was  COL 
vinced  that  his  unexpected  presence  had  startled  and  almost 
grieved  her ;  and  why  should  this  be,  if  she  had  still  the 
hope  with  which  she  had  so  infused  his  spirit,  when  they  had 
parted.  His  heart,  so  full  of  elasticity  a  few  hours  previous, 
sunk  chilled  and  pained  within  him,  and  it  was  with  an  effort 
impossible  to  have  been  denied,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
Queen's  unspoken  but  real  sympathy;  he  roused  himself 
sufficiently  to  execute  his  mission. 

But  Isabella  was  too  much  the  true  and  feeling  woman, 
to  permit  the  day  to  close  without  the  private  interview  she 
saw  Stanley  needed ;  reality,  sad  as  it  was,  she  felt  would 
be  better  than  harrowing  suspense  ;  and,  in  a  fe\t  kindly 
words,  the  tale  was  told. 

"  I  should  have  known  it !"  he  exclaimed,  when  the  first 
shock  of  bitter  disappointment  permitted  words.  "  My  own 
true,  precious  Marie  !  How  dared  I  dream  that  for  me  thou 
wouldst  sacrifice  thy  faith  ;  all,  all  else — joy,  hope,  strength  ; 
aye,  life  itself — but  not  thy  God  !  Oh,  Madam,"  he  contin 
ued,  turning  passionately  to  the  Queen,  "  thou  hast  not  con 
demned  her  to  misery  for  this  !  Thou  hast  not  revoked  thy 
former  heavenly  mercy,  and  delivered  her  over  to  the  stern 
fathers  of  our  holy  church?  No,  no!  Isabella  could  not 
have  done  this  !" 

'•  Nor  have  we,"  replied  the  Queen,  so  mildly  that  Arthur 
flung  himself  at  her  feet,  conjuring  her  to  pardon  his  disre 
spectful  words.     "  G-ive  her  to  thee,  without  retracting  hey 
11 


242  THE    VALE   OF    CEDARS', 

fearful  misbelief,  indeed  we  dared  not,  but  further  miserj 
has  not  been  inflicted.  We  have  indeed  done  penance  for 
our  weakness,  severe  penance  ;  for  Father  Tomas  asserts  that 
we  have  most  grievously  sinned ;  and  more,  have  pledged 
ourselves  most  solemnly,  that  what  he  may  counsel  for  the 
entire  uprooting  of  this  horrible  heresy,  and  accursed  race, 
shall  be  followed,  cost  what  it  may,  politically  or  privately  ; 
but  to  refuse  the  last  boon  of  the  unhappy  girl,  who  had  so 
strangely,  perchance  so  bewilderingly,  wound  herself  about 
my  heart — Stanley,  I  must  have  changed  my  nature  first !" 

"  Her  last  boon  !     Gracious  Sovereign — " 

"  Nay,  her  last  to  her  Sovereign,  my  friend.  It  may  be 
that  even  yet  her  errors  may  be  abjured,  and  grace  be 
granted  in  her  solitude,  to  become  in  this  world  as  the  next, 
what  we  have  prayed  for ;  but  we  dare  not  hope  it  ;  nor 
must  thou.  She  besought  permission  to  return  to  the  home 
of  her  childhood,  pledging  herself  never  to  leave  it,  or  min 
gle  with  her  people  or  ours  more." 

"  And  she  is  there  !  God  in  Heaven  bless,  reward  your 
Highness  for  the  mercy  !"  burst  impetuously  from  Arthur. 

"  I  trust  she  is,  nay,  I  believe  it ;  for  Jewess  as  she  is, 
she  would  not  pledge  me  false.  In  the  garb  of  the  novice, 
as  she  saved  thee,  Father  Denis  conducted  her  to  the  fron 
tiers  of  Castile.  More  we  know  not,  for  we  asked  not  the  site 
of  her  home." 

There  was  a  few  minutes'  pause,  and  then,  with  beseech 
ing  eloquence,  Arthur  conjured  the  Sovereign  to  let  him  see 
her  once,  but  once  again.  He  asked  no  more,  but  he  felt  as 
if  he  could  not  sustain  the  agony  of  eternal  separation,  with 
out  one  last,  last  interview.  He  pledged  his  honor,  that  no 
temptation  of  a  secret  union  should  interfere  with  the  sen 
tence  of  the  Queen  ;  that  both  would  submit ;  only  to  permir 
them  once  more  to  meet  again. 

Isabella  hesitated,  but  not  for  long.  Perhaps  the  secret 
hope  arose  that  Stanley's  presence  would  effect  that  for  which 
all  else  had  failed;  or  that  she  really  could  not  resist  his 
passionate  pleadings. 

"  One  word  of  retraction,  and  even  now  she  is  thine. — 
And  I  will  bless  thee  that  thou  gavest  her  to  me  again,"  she 
said  in  parting ;  but  her  own  spirit  told  her  the  hope  was 
vain. 


OR,   THE    MARTY!!.  243 

Half  an  hour  after  this  agitating  interview  Arthur  Stan 
ley  was  again  on  horseback,  a  deep  hectic  on  either  cheek ; 
his  eye  bloodshot  and  strained,  traversing  with  the  speed  of 
lightning  the  open  country,  in  the  direction  of  Castile. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  Oh  !  love,  love,  strong  as  death— from  such  an  hour 
Pressing  out  joy  by  thine  immortal  power  ; 
Holy  and  fervent  love  !    Had  earth  but  rest 
For  thee  and  thine,  this  world  were  all  too  fair  : 
How  could  we  thence  be  weaned  to  die  without  despair ! 

"But  woe  for  him  who  felt  that  heart  grow  still 

Which  with  its  weight  of  agony  had  lain 
Breaking  on  his.     Scarce  could  the  mortal  chill 

Of  the  hushed  bosom,  ne'er  to  heave  again, 
And  all  the  curdling  silence  round  the  eye, 
Bring  home  the  stern  belief  that  she  could  die." 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

THE  glowing  light  of  a  glorious  sunset  lingered  on  the  Vale 
of  Cedars,  displaying  that  calm  and  beautiful  retreat  in  all 
the  fair  and  rich  luxuriance  of  former  years.  Reuben  and 
Ruth,  the  aged  retainers  of  the  house  of  Henriquez,  had 
made  it  their  pride  and  occupation  to  preserve  the  cherished 
retreat,  lovely  as  it  had  been  left.  Nor  were  they  its  only 
inmates ;  their  daughter,  her  husband,  and  children,  afte^ 
various  struggles  in  the  Christian  world,  had  been  settled  in 
the  Vale  by  the  benevolence  of  Ferdinand  Morales — their 
sole  duty,  to  preserve  it  in  such  order,  as  to  render  it  a 
fitting  place  of  refuge  for  any  who  should  need  it.  Within 
the  last  twelve  months,  another  inmate  had  been  added  to 
them,  Weary  of  his  wanderings,  and  of  the  constant 
course  of  deception  which  his  apparent  profession  of  a  monk 
demanded,  Julien  Morales  had  returned  to  the  home  of  his 
childhood,  there  to  fix  his  permanent  abode ;  only  to  make 
such  excursions  from  it,  as  the  interests  of  his  niece  might 
demand.  Her  destiny  was  his  sole  anxious  thought.  Her 


244  THE   VALE   OF    CEDARS  J 

detention  by  Isabella  convinced  him  that  her  disguise  had 
been  penetrated,  and  filled  him  with  solicitude  for  her  spir 
itual,  yet  more  than  her  temporal  welfare.  Royal  protection 
of  a  Jewess  was  so  unprecedented,  that  it  could  only  argue 
the  hope — nay,  perhaps  conviction — of  her  final  conversion. 
And  the  old  man  actually  tried  to  divorce  the  sweet  image 
of  his  niece  from  his  affections,  so  convinced  was  he  that  her 
unhappy  love  for  Arthur,  combined  with  Isabella's  authority, 
nnd,  no  doubt,  the  threat  of  some  terrible  alternative  should 
she  refuse,  would  compel  her  acceptance  of  the  proffered 
cross,  and  so  sever  them  for  ever.  How  little  can  man,  even 
the  most  gentle  and  affectionate,  read  woman  ! 

It  was  the  day  completing  the  eleventh  month  after  Don 
Ferdinand's  murder,  when  Julien  Morales  repaired  earlier 
than  usual  to  the  little  temple,  there  to  read  the  service  for 
the  dead  appointed  for  the  day,  and  thence  proceeded  to  his 
nephew's  grave.  An  unusual  object,  which  had  fallen  on,  or 
was  kneeling  beside  the  grave,  caught  his  eye,  and  impelled 
him  to  quicken  his  pace.  His  heart  throbbed  as  he  recog 
nized  the  garb  of  a  novice,  and  to  such  a  degree  as  almost  to 
deprive  him  of  all  power,  as  in  the  white,  chiselled  features, 
resting  on  the  cold,  damp  sod,  he  recognized  his.  niece,  and 
believed,  for  the  first  agonizing  moment,  that  it  was  but  clay 
resting  against  clay ;  and  that  the  sweet,  pure  spirit  had 
but  guided  her  to  that  grave  and  flown.  But  death  for  a 
brief  interval  withdrew  his  grasp ;  though  his  shaft  had 
reached  her,  and  no  human  hand  could  draw  it  back.  Father 
Denis  had  conducted  her  so  carefully  and  tenderly  to  the 
frontiers  of  Castile,  that  she  had  scarcely  felt  fatigue,  and  en 
countered  no  exposure  to  the  elements ;  but  when  he  left  her, 
her  desire  to  reach  her  home  became  stronger,  with  the  seem 
ing  physical  incapacity  to  do  so.  Her  spirit  gave  way,  and 
mental  and  bodily  exhaustion  followed.  The  season  was  unu 
sually  damp  and  tempestuous,  and,  though  scarcely  felt  at  the 
time,  sowed  the  seeds  of  cold  and  decline,  from  which  her  na 
turally  good  constitution  might,  in  the  very  midst  of  her  trials, 
otherwise  have  saved  her.  Her  repugnance  to  encounter  the 
eyes  or  speech  of  her  fellows,  lest  her  disguise  should  be  pe 
netrated,  caused  her  to  shrink  from  entering  any  habitation, 
except  for  the  single  night  which  intervened,  between  the  pe 
riod  of  the  father's  leaving  her  and  her  reaching  the  secret 


OR,    THE    MARTYR.  245 

entrance  to  the  Vale.  Her  wallet  provided  her  with  more 
food  than  her  parched  throat  could  swallow;  and  for  the 
consuming  thirst,  the  fresh  streams  that  so  often  bubbled 
across  her  path,  gave  her  all  she  needed.  The  fellowship  of 
man,  then,  was  unrequired.  and.  as  the  second  night  fell,  so 
comparatively  short  a  distance  lay  between  her  and  her 
home,  that  buoyed  up  by  the  desire  to  reach  it,  she  was  not 
sensible  of  her  utter  exhaustion,  till  she  stood  within  the  lit 
tle  graveyard  of  the  Yale  ;  and  the  moon  shining  softly  and 
clearly  on  the  headstones,  disclosed  to  her  the  grave  of  her 
husband.  She  was  totally  ignorant  that  he  had  been  borne 
there ;  and  the  rush  of  feeling  which  came  over  her,  as  she 
read  his  name — the  memories  of  their  happy,  innocent,  child 
hood,  of  all  his  love  for  her — that  had  he  been  but  spared,  all 
the  last  year's  misery  might  have  been  averted,  for  she  would 
have  loved  him,  ay,  even  as  he  loved  her ;  and  he  would 
have  guarded,  saved — so  overpowered  her,  that  she  had  sunk 
down  upon  the  senseless  earth  which  covered  him,  conscious 
only  of  the  wild,  sickly  longing,  like  him  to  flee  away  and  be 
at  rest.  She  had  reached  her  home  ;  exertion  no  longer 
needed,  the  unnatural  strength  ebbed  fast,  and  the  frail  tene 
ment  withered,  hour  by  hour,  away.  Arid  how  might  Julien 
mourn  !  Her  work  on  earth  was  done.  Young,  tried,  frail 
as  she  was,  she  had  been  permitted  to  show  forth  the  glory, 
the  sustaining  glory,  of  her  faith,  by  a  sacrifice  whose  mag 
nitude  was  indeed  apparent,  but  whose  depth  and  intensity 
of  suffering,  none  knew  but  Him  for  whom  it  had  been  made. 
She  had  been  preserved  from  the  crime — if  possible  more 
fearful  in  the  mind  of  the  Hebrew  than  any  other — apos- 
tacy :  and  though  the  first  conviction,  that  she  was  indeed 
"•  passing  away"  even  from  his  affection,  was  fraught  with  ab 
solute  anguish,  yet  her  uncle  could  not,  dared  not.  pray  for 
life  on  earth.  And  in  the  peace,  the  calm,  the  depth  of  qui 
etude  which  gradually  sunk  on  her  heart,  infusing  her  every 
word  and  look  and  gentle  smile,  it  was  as  if  her  spirit  had 
already  the  foretaste  of  that  blissful  heaven  for  which  its 
wings  were  plumed.  As  the  frame  dwindled,  the  expression 
of  her  sweet  face  became  more  and  more  unearthly  in  its 
exquisite  beauty,  the  mind  more  and  more  beatified,  and  the 
heart  more  freed  from  earthly  feeling.  The  reward  of  her 
constancy  appeared  in  part  bestowed  on  earth,  for  death  it 


246  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS  J 

self  was  revealed  to  her — not  as  the  King  of  Terrors,  but  as 
an  Angel  of  Light,  at  whose  touch  the  lingering  raiment  of 
mortality  would  dissolve,  and  the  freed  soul  spring  up  re 
joicing  to  its  home. 

It  was  the  Feast  of  the  Tabernacle  and  the  Sabbath  eve. 
The  tent — formed  of  branches  of  thick  trees  and  fragrant 
shrubs — was  erected,  as  we  have  seen  it  in  a  former  page,  a 
short  distance  from  the  temple.  Marie's  taste  had  once  again 
been  consulted  in  its  decorations ;  her  hand,  feeble  as  it  was, 
had  twined  the  lovely  wreaths  of  luscious  flowers  and  arranged 
the  glowing  fruit.  With  some  difficulty  she  had  joined  in  the 
devotional  service  performed  by  her  uncle  in  the  little  tem 
ple — borne  there  in  the  arms  of  old  Reuben,  for  her  weak 
ness  now  prevented  walking — and  on  the  evening  of  the  Sab 
bath  in  the  Festival,  she  reclined  on  one  of  the  luxurious 
couches  within  the  tent,  through  the  opening  of  which,  she 
could  look  forth  on  the  varied  beauties  of  the  Yale,  and  the 
rich  glorious  hues  dyeing  the  western  skies.  The  Sabbath 
lamps  were  lighted,  but  their  rays  were  faint  and  flickering 
in  the  still  glowing  atmosphere.  A  crimson  ray  from  the 
departing  luminary  gleamed  through  the  branches,  and  a 
faint  glow — either  from  its  reflection,  or  from  that  deceivin, 
beauty,  which  too  often  gilds  the  features  of  the  dying- 
rested  on  Marie's  features,  lighting  up  her  large  and  lus 
trous  eyes  with  unnatural  brilliance.  She  had  been  speak 
ing  earnestly  of  that  life  beyond  the  grave,  belief  in  which 
throughout  her  trials  had  been  her  sole  sustainer.  Julien 
had  listened,  wrapt  and  almost  awe-struck,  so  completely  did 
it  seem  as  if  the  spirit,  and  not  the  mortal,  spoke. 

"And  thine  own  trials,  my  beloved  one,"  he  said, — "Has 
the  question  never  come,  why  thou  shouldst  thus  have  been 
afflicted?" 

"  Often,  very  often,  my  father,  and  only  within  the  last 
few  weeks  has  the  full  answer  come  ;  and  I  can  say  from  my 
inmost  heart,  in  the  words  of  Job,  '  It  is  good  that  I  have 
been  afflicted/  and  that  I  believe  all  is  well.  While  on  earth, 
we  must  be  in  some  degree  of  earth,  and  bear  the  penalty  of 
our  earthly  nature.  The  infirmities  and  imperfections  of 
that  nature  in  others,  as  often  as  in  ourselves,  occasion  hu 
man  misery,  which  our  God,  in  his  infinite  love,  permits,  to 
try  our  spirit's  strength  and  faith,  and  so  prepare  us  for  that 


Oil,   THE   MAKTYll.  247 

higher  state  of  being,  in  which  the  spirit  will  move  and  act, 
when  the  earthly  shell  is  shivered,  and  earthly  infirmities 
are  for  ever  stilled.  In  the  time  of  suffering  we  cannot  think 
thus  ;  but  looking  back  as  I  do  now — when  the  near  vicinity 
of  another  world  bids  me  regard  my  own  past  life  almost  as 
if  it  were  another's — I  feel  it  in  my  inmost  heart,  and  bless 
God  for  every  suffering  which  has  prepared  me  thus  early 
for  his  home.  There  is  but  one  feeling,  one  wish  of  earth 
remaining,"  she  continued,  after  a  long  pause  of  utter  ex 
haustion.  "  It  is  weak,  perhaps,  and  wrong  ;  but  if — if  Ar 
thur  could  but  know  that  fatal  secret  which  made  me  seem 
a  worse  deceiver  than  I  was — I  know  it  cannot  be,  but  it  so 
haunts  me.  If  I  wedded  one  Christian,  may  he  not  think 
there  needed  not  this  sacrifice — sacrifice  not  of  myself,  but 

of  his  happiness.  Oh  !  could  I  but Hush  !  whose  step 

is  that  ?"  she  suddenly  interrupted  herself ;  and  with  the 
effort  of  strong  excitement,  started  up,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
her  uncle's  arm. 

"  Nay,  my  child,  there  is  no  sound,"  he  replied  soothing 
ly,  after  listening  attentively  for  several  moments. 

"  But  there  is.  Hark,  dost  thou  not  hear  it  now  ?  G-od 
of  mercy !  thou  hast  heard  my  prayer — it  is  his !"  she  ex 
claimed,  sinking  powerlessly  back,  at  the  moment  that  even 
Julien's  duller  ear  had  caught  a  rapid  step ;  and  in  another 
minute  the  branches  were  hastily  pushed  aside,  and  Stanley 
indeed  stood  upon  the  threshold. 

"  Marie — and  thus  !"  he  passionately  exclaimed  ;  and 
flinging  himself  on  his  knees  beside  her,  he  buried  his  face 

on  her  hand,  and  wept  in  agony. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Nearly  an  hour  passed  ere  Marie  could  rally  from  the 
agitation  of  Arthur's  unexpected  presence  sufficiently  to 
speak.  She  lay  with  her  hand  clasped  in  his,  and  his  arm 
around  her — realizing,  indeed,  to  the  full,  the  soothing  con 
solation  of  his  presence,  but  utterly  powerless  to  speak  that 
for  which  she  had  so  longed  to  see  him  once  again.  The  ex 
tent  of  her  weakness  had  been  unknown  till  that  moment 
either  to  her  uncle  or  herself,  and  Julien  watched  over  her  in 
terror  lest  the  indefinable  change  which  in  that  hour  of  still 
ness  was  perceptibly  stealing  over  her  features  should  be  in 
deed  the  dim  shadow  of  death.  To  Arthur  speech  was 


248  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS) 

equally  impossible,  save  in  the  scarcely  articulate  expressions 
of  love  and  veneration  which  he  lavished  on  her.  What  he 
had  hoped  in  thus  seeking  her  he  could  not  himself  have  de 
fined.  His  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  the  wild  wish  to  see 
her  again,  and  the  thoughts  of  death  for  her  had  never  en 
tered  his  heart.  The  shock,  then,  had  been  terrible,  and  to 
realize  the  infinite  mercy  which  thus  bade  sorrow  coase,  was 
in  such  a  moment  impossible.  He  could  but  gaze  and  clasp 
her  closer  and  closer,  yet,  as  if  even  death  should  be  averted 
by  his  love. 

"  Uncle  Julien,"  she  murmured,  as  she  faintly  extended 
her  hand  towards  him,  "  thou  wilt  not  refuse  to  clasp  hands 
with  one  who  has  so  loved  thy  Marie  !  And  thou,  Arthur,  oh  ! 
scorn  him  not.  Without  him  the  invisible  dungeons  of  the 
Inquisition  would  have  been  my  grave,  and  thine  that  of  a 
dishonored  knight  and  suspected  murderer;" 

The  eyes  of  her  companions  met,  and  their  hands  were 
grasped  in  that  firm  pressure,  betraying  unity  of  feeling,  and 
reciprocal  esteem,  which  need  no  words. 

"  Raise  me  a  little,  dearest  Arthur  ;  uncle  Julien,  put 
back  that  spreading  bough.  I  would  say  something  more, 
and  the  fresher  air  may  give  me  strength.  Ah  !  the  evening 
breeze  is  so  fresh  and  sweet ;  it  always  makes  me  feel  as  if 
the  spirits  of  those  we  loved  were  hovering  near  us.  We 
hold  much  closer  and  dearer  communion  with  the  beloved 
dead  in  the  calm  twilight  than  in  the  garish  day.  Arthur, 
dearest,  thou  wilt  think  of  me  sometimes  in  an  hour  like 
this." 

"  When  shall  I  not  think  of  thee  ?"  he  passionately  re 
joined.  "  Oh,  Marie,  Marie !  I  thought  separation  on  earth 
the  worst  agony  that  could  befall  me  ;  but  what — what  is  it 
compared  to  the  eternal  one  of  death  ?" 

"  No,  no,  not  eternal,  Arthur.  In  heaven  I  feel  there  is 
no  distinction  of  creed  or  faith ;  we  shall  all  love  God  and 
one  another  there,  and  earth's  fearful  distinctions  can  never 
come  between  us.  I  know  such  is  not  the  creed  of  thy  peo 
ple,  nor  of  some  of  mine ;  but  when  thou  standest  on  the 
verge  of  eternity,  as  I  do  now,  thou  wilt  feel  this  too." 

"  How  can  I  gaze  on  thee,  and  not  believe  it  ?"  he  re* 
plied.  "  The  loudest  thunders  of  the  church  could  not  shake 
my  trust  in  the  purity  of  heaven,  which  is  thine." 


OR,   THE    MARTYR.  24* 

"  Because  thou  lovest,  Arthur.  Thy  love  for  Marie  is 
stronger  than  thy  hatred  of  her  race  ;  and,  oh  !  if  thou  lovest 
thus,  I  know  thou  hast  forgiven." 

"  Forgiven  !"  he  passionately  reiterated. 

"  Yes,  dearest  Arthur.  Is  the  past  indeed  so  obliterated 
that  the  wrong  I  did  thee  is  forgotten  even  as  forgiven  1  But, 
oh,  Arthur  !  it  was  not  so  unjustifiable  as  it  seemed  then. 
I  dared  not  breathe  the  truth  in  Isabella's  court.  I  dare 
not  whisper  it  now  save  to  thee,  who  would  die  rather  than  re 
veal  it.  Arthur,  dearest  Arthur,  it  was  no  Christian  whom 
I  wedded.  We  had  been  betrothed  from  early  childhood, 
though  I  knew  it  not ;  and  when  the  time  came,  I  could  not 
draw  down  on  me  a  father's  curse,  or  dash  with  agony  a  heart 
that  so  cherished,  so  loved  me,  by  revelation  of  a  truth  which 
could  avail  me  nothing,  and  would  bring  him  but  misery. 
Ferdinand  was  my  cousin — a  child  of  Israel,  as  myself." 

"  Now  heaven  bless  thee  for  those  words,  my  own,  true 
precious  Marie  !"  exclaimed  Stanley,  in  strong  emotion,  and 
clasping  her  still  closer,  he  pressed  his  quivering  lips  to  her 
forehead,  starting  in  agony  as  he  marked  the  cold,  damp 
dews  which  had  gathered  upon  it,  too  truly  the  index  of  de 
parting  life.  He  besought  her  to  speak  no  more — the  exer 
tion  was  exhausting  her  ;  she  smiled  faintly,  drank  of  the  re 
viving  draught  which  Julien  proffered,  and  lay  for  a  few  mi 
nutes  calm  and  still. 

"  I  am  better  now,"  she  said,  after  an  interval.  "  It  was 
only  the  excitement  of  speaking  that  truth,  which  I  have  so 
long  desired  to  reveal — to  clear  my  memory  from  the  caprice 
and  inconstancy  with  which  even  thy  love  must  have  charged 
me ;  and  now,  Arthur,  promise  me  that  thou  wilt  not  mourn 
me  too  long :  that  thou  wilt  strive  to  conquer  the  morbid 
misery,  which  I  know,  if  encouraged,  will  cloud  thy  whole  life, 
and  unfit  thee  for  the  glorious  career  which  must  otherwise 
be  thine.  Do  not  forget  me  wholly,  love,  but  deem  it  not  a 
duty  to  my  memory  never  to  love  again.  Arthur,  dearest, 
thou  canst  bestow  happiness  on  another,  and  one  of  thine 
own  faith,  even  such  happiness  as  to  have  been  thy  wife  would 
have  given  me.  Do  not  reject  the  calm  rest  and  peaceful- 
ness,  which  such  love  will  bring  to  thee,  though  now  thou 
feelest  as  if  the  very  thought  were  loathing.  She  will  speak 
to  tbee  of  me  ;  for  Jewess  as  she  knew  me.  she  has  loved  and 
11* 


250 

tended  me  in  suffering,  and  so  wept  my  banishment,  that  my 
frozen  tears  had  well  nigh  flowed  in  seeing  hers.  Seek  her 
in  Isabella's  court,  and  try  to  love  her,  Arthur — if  at  first 
merely  for  my  sake,  it  will  soon,  soon  be  for  her  own." 

Impressively  and  pleadingly,  these  words  fell  on  Arthur's 
aching  heart,  even  at  that  moment  when  he  felt  to  comply 
with  them  was  and  must  ever  be  impossible.  When  time 
had  done  its  work,  and  softened  individual  agony,  they  re 
turned  again  and  yet  again ;  and  at  each  returning,  seemed 
less  painful  to  obey. 

"  And  Isabella,  my  kind,  loving,  generous  mistress,"  she 
continued,  after  a  very  long  pause,  and  her  voice  was  so  faint 
as  scarcely  to  make  distinguishable  the  words,  save  for  the  still 
lingering  sweetness,  and  clearness  of  her  articulation — "  Oh  ! 
what  can  I  say  to  her  ?  Arthur,  dearest  Arthur,  thou  must 
repay  the  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe  her.  Her  creed  condemns, 
but  her  heart  loves  me — aye,  still,  still !  And  better  (though 
she  cannot  think  so)  than  had  I  for  earthly  joy  turned  traitor 
to  my  God.  Oh,  tell  her  how  with  my  last  breath  I  loved 
and  blessed  her,  Arthur  ;  tell  her  we  shall  meet  again,  where 
Jew  and  Gentile  worship  the  same  God !  Oh  that  I  could 

but  have  proved — proved How  suddenly  it   has   grown 

dark  !     Uncle  Julien,  is  it  not  time  for  the  evening  prayer  ?" 

And  her  lips  moved  in  the  wordless  utterance  of  the 
prayer  for  which  she  had  asked,  forgetting  it  had  some  time 
before  been  said;  and  then  her  head  sunk  lower  and  lower 
on  Arthur's  bosom,  and  there  was  no  sound.  Twilight  lin 
gered,  as  loth  to  disappear,  then  deepened  into  night,  and  the 
silver  lamps  within  the  tents  brighter  and  more  brightly  il 
lumined  the  gloom  ;  but  Arthur  moved  not,  suppressing  even 
his  breath,  lest  he  should  disturb  that  deep  and  still  repose. 
It  was  more  than  an  hour  ere  Julien  Morales  could  realize 
the  truth,  and  then  he  gently  endeavored  to  unclasp  Arthur's 
almost  convulsive  hold,  and  with  kindly  force  to  lead  him 
from  the  couch.  The  light  of  the  lamp  fell  full  upon  that 
sweet,  sweet  face ;  and,  oh !  never  had  it  seemed  so 
lovely.  The  awful  stillness  of  sculptured  repose  was  in 
deed  there  ;  the  breath  of  life  and  its  disturbing  emotions 
had  passed  away,  and  nought  but  the  shrine  remained. 
But  like  marble  sculptured  by  God's  hand,  that  sweet  face 
gleamed — seeming,  in  its  perfect  tracery,  its  heavenly  repose, 


OR,    THE   MARTYR.  251 

to  whisper  even  to  the  waves  of  agony,  "  Be  still — my  spirit 

is  with  God !" 

******          *          *          * 

Julien  Morales  and  Arthur  Stanley — the  aged  and  the 
young — the  Jewish  recluse  and  Christian  warrior — knelt 
side  by  side  on  the  cold  earth,  which  concealed  the  remains 
of  one  to  both  so  inexpressibly  dear.  The  moonlit  shrubs 
and  and  spangled  heaven  alone  beheld  their  mutual  sorrow, 
and  the  pale  moon  waned,  and  the  stars  gleamed  paler  and 
pttler  in  the  first  gray  of  dawn  ere  that  vigil  was  concluded. 
And  then  both  arose  and  advanced  to  the  barrier  wall ;  the 
spring  answered  to  the  touch,  and  the  concealed  door  flew 
back.  The  young  Christian  turned,  and  was  folded  to  the 
heart  of  the  Jew.  The  blessing  of  the  Hebrew  was  breathed 
in  the  ear  of  the  Englishman,  and  Stanley  disappeared. 

Oh,  love  !  thou  fairest,  brightest,  most  imperishable  type 
of  heaven  !  what  to  thee  are  earth's  distinctions  ?  Alone  in 
thy  pure  essence  thou  standest,  and  every  mere  earthly  feel 
ing  crouches  at  thy  feet.  And  art  thou  but  this  world's 
blessing?  Oh!  they  have  never  loved  who  thus  believe. 
Love  is  the  voice  of  God,  Love  is  the  rule  of  Heaven  !  As 
one  grain  to  the  uncounted  sands,  as  one  drop  to  the  unfath- 
omed  depths — is  the  love  of  earth  to  that  of  heaven ;  but 
when  the  mortal  shrine  is  shivered,  the  minute  particle  will 
re-unite  itself  with  its  kindred  essence,  to  exist  unshadowed 
and  for  ever. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

"  Why  then  a  final  note  prolong, 
Or  lengthen  out  a  closing  song, 
Unless  to  bid  the  gentles  speed 
Who  long  have  listened  to  my  rede  7" 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

THE  fickle  sun  of  "  merrie  England  "  shone  forth  in  unusual 
splendor ;  and,  as  if  resolved  to  bless  the  august  ceremony 
on  which  it  gazed,  permitted  not  a  cloud  to  shadow  the  lus 
trous  beams,  which  darted  their  floods  of  light  through  the 


252  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS; 

gorgeous  casements  of  "Westminster  Abbey,  in  whose  sacred 
precincts  was  then  celebrating  the  bridal  of  the  young  heir 
of  England,  with  a  fair  and  gentle  daughter  of  Spain.  It 
was  a  scene  to  interest  the  coldest  heart — not  for  the  state 
and  splendor  of  the  accoutrements,  nor  the  high  rank  of  the 
parties  principally  concerned,  nor  for  the  many  renowned 
characters  of  church,  state,  and  chivalry  there  assembled  5  it 
was  the  extreme  youth  and  touching  expression,  impressed 
on  the  features,  of  both  bride  and  bridegroom. 

Neither  Arthur,  Prince  of  Wales,  nor  Catherine.  Infanta 
of  Arragon,  had  yet  numbered  eighteen  years,  the  first  fresh 
season  of  joyous  life ;  but  on  neither  countenance  could  be 
raced  the  hilarity  and  thoughtlessness,  natural  to  their  age. 
The  fair,  transparent  brow  of  the  young  Prince,  under  which 
the  blue  veins  could  be  clearly  seen,  till  lost  beneath  the 
rich  chesnut  curls,  that  parted  on  his  brow,  fell  loosely  on 
either  shoulder ;  the  large  and  deep  blue  eye,  which  was  ever 
half  concealed  beneath  the  long,  dark  lash,  as  if  some  untold 
languor  caused  the  eyelid  to  droop  so  heavily ;  the  delicate 
pink  of  his  downless  cheek,  the  brilliant  hue  on  his  lips,  even 
his  peculiar  smile,  all  seemed  to  whisper  the  coming  ill,  that 
one  so  dear  to  Englishmen  would  not  linger  with,  them  to 
fulfil  the  sweet  promise  of  his  youth. 

Beauty  is,  perhaps,  too  strong  a  word  to  apply  to  the 
youthful  bride.  It  was  the  pensive  sadness  of  her  mild  and 
pleasing  features  that  so  attracted — natural  enough  to  her 
position  in  a  strange  land,  and  the  thoughts  of  early  seve 
rance  from  a  mother  she  idolized,  but  recalled  some  twenty 
years  afterwards  as  the  dim  shadow  of  the  sorrowing  future, 
glooming  through  the  gay  promise  of  the  present.  And  there, 
too,  was  Prince  Henry,  then  only  in  his  twelfth  year,  bearing 
in  his  flashing  eye  and  constantly  varying  expression  of  brow 
and  mouth,  true  index  of  those  passions  which  were  one  day 
to  shake  Europe  to  the  centre ;  and  presenting  in  his  whole 
appearance  a  striking  contrast  to  his  brother,  and  drawing 
around  him,  even  while  yet  so  young,  the  hottest  and  wildest 
spirits  of  his  father's  court,  who,  while  they  loved  the  person, 
scorned  the  gentle  amusements  of  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

Henry  the  Seventh  and  his  hapless  consort,  Elizabeth  of 
York,  were,  of  course,  present — the  one  rejoicing  in  the  con 
clusion  of  a  marriage  for  which  he  had  been  in  treaty  the 


OR,    THE    MARTYR. 

last  seven  years,  and  which  was  at  last  purchased  at  the  cost 
of  innocent  blood ;  the  other  beholding  only  her  precious 
son,  whose  gentle  and  peculiarly  domestic  virtues,  were  her 
sweetest  solace  for  conjugal  neglect  and  ill-concealed  dislike. 

Amongst  the  many  noble  Spaniards  forming  the  imme 
diate  attendants  of  the  Infanta,  had  been  one  so  different  in 
aspect  to  his  companions  as  to  attract  universal  notice ;  and 
not  a  few  of  the  senior  noblemen  of  England  had  been  ob 
served  to  crowd  round  him  whenever  he  appeared,  and  evince 
towards  him  the  most  marked  and  pleasurable  cordiality. 
His  thickly  silvered  hair  and  somewhat  furrowed  brow  bore 
the  impress  of  some  five-and-fifty  years  ;  but  a  nearer  exami 
nation  might  have  betrayed,  that  sorrow  more  than  years, 
had  aged  him,  and  full  six,  or  even  ten  years  might  very  well 
be  substracted  from  the  age  which  a  first  glance  supposed 
him.  Why  the  fancy  was  taken  that  he  was  not  a  Spaniard 
could  not  have  been  very  easily  explained ;  for  his  wife  was 
the  daughter  of  the  famous  Pedro  Pas,  whose  beauty,  wit, 
and  high  spirits  were  essentially  Spanish,  and  was  the  In 
fanta's  nearest  and  most  favored  attendant ;  and  he  himself 
was  constantly  near  her  person,  and  looked  up  to  by  the 
usually  jealous  Spaniards  as  even  higher  in  rank  and  im 
portance  that  many  of  themselves.  How,  then,  could  he  be 
a  foreigner  ?  And  marvel  merged  into  the  most  tormenting 
curiosity,  when,  on  the  bridal  day  of  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
though  he  still  adhered  to  the  immediate  train  of  the  Prin 
cess,  he  appeared  in  the  rich  and  full  costume  of  an  English 
Peer.  The  impatience  of  several  young  gallants  could  hardly 
by  restrained  even  during  the  ceremony ;  at  the  conclusion 
of  which  they  tumultuously  surrounded  Lord  Scales,  declar 
ing  they  would  not  let  him  go,  till  he  had  told  them  who  and 
what  was  this  mysterious  friend :  Lord  Scales  had  headed 
a  gallant  band  of  English  knights  in  the  Moorish  war,  and 
was  therefore  supposed  to  know  every  thing  concerning 
Spain,  and  certainly  of  this  Anglo-Spaniard,  as  ever  since 
his  arrival  in  England  they  had  constantly  been  seen  to 
gether.  He  smiled  good-humoredly  at  their  importunity, 
and  replied — 

"  I  am  afraid  my  friend's  history  has  nothing  very  mar 
vellous  or  mysterious  in  it.  His  family  were  all  staunch 
Lancastrians,  and  perished  either  on  the  field  or  scaffold ;  he 


254 

escaped  almost  miraculously,  and  after  a  brief  interval  of 
restless  wandering,  went  to  Spain  and  was  treated  with  such 
consideration  and  kindness  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  that 
he  has  lived  there  ever  since,  honored  and  treated  in  all 
things  as  a  child  of  the  soil.  On  my  arrival,  I  was  struck 
by  his  extraordinary  courage  and  rash  disregard  of  danger, 
and  gladly  hailed  in  him  a  countryman.  I  learned  after 
wards  that  this  reckless  bravery  had  been  incited  by  a  wish 
for  death,  and  that  events  had  occurred  in  his  previous  life, 
which  would  supply  matter  for  many  a  minstrel  tale." 

"Let  us  hear  it,  let  us  hear  it !"  interrupted  many  eager 
voices,  but  Lord  Scales  laughingly  shook  his  head. 

u  Excuse  me,  my  young  friends:  at  present  I  have  neither 
time  nor  inclination  for  a  long  story.  Enough  that  he  loved, 
and  loved  unhappily  ;  not  from  its  being  unreturned,  but 
from  a  concatenation  of  circumstances  and  sorrows  which 
may  not  be  detailed." 

"  But  he  is  married  ;  and  he  is  as  devoted  to  Donna 
Catherine  as  she  is  to  hito.  I  heard  they  were  proverbial 
for  their  mutual  affection  and  domestic  happiness.  How  could 
he  so  have  loved  before  ?"  demanded,  somewhat  skeptically, 
a  very  young  man. 

"  My  good  friend,  when  you  get  a  little  older,  you  will 
cease  to  marvel  at  such  things,  or  imagine,  because  a  man  has 
been  very  wretched,  he  is  to  be  for  ever.  My  friend  once 
felt  as  you  do  (Lord  Scales  changed  his  tone  to  one  of  im 
pressive  seriousness) ;  but  he  was  wise  enough  to  abide  by 
the  counsels  of  the  beloved  one  he  had  lost,  struggle  to  shake 
off  the  sluggish  misery  which  was  crushing  him,  cease  to  wish 
for  death,  and  welcome  life  as  a  solemn  path  of  usefulness 
and  good,  still  to  be  trodden,  though  its  flowers  might  have 
faded.  Gradually  as  he  awoke  to  outward  things,  and  sought 
the  companionship  of  her  whom  his  lost  one  had  loved,  he 
became  sensible  that,  spiritless  as  he  had  thought  himself, 
he  could  yet,  did  he  see  fit,  win  and  rivet  regard  ;  and  so  he 
married,  loving  less  than  he  was  loved,  perchance  at  the  tim 
but  scarcely  so  now.  His  marriage,  and  his  present  happi 
ness,  are  far  less  mysterious  than  his  extraordinary  interfer 
ence  in  the  event  which  followed  the  conquest  of  the  Moors 
— I  mean  the  expulsion  of  the  Jews." 

"  By  the  way,  what  caused  that  'remarkable  edict  ?"   de- 


Oil,    THE    MARTYR.  255 

manded  one  of  the  circle  more  interested  in  politics  than  in 
individuals.  "It  is  a  good  thing  indeed  to  rid  a  land  of  such 
vermin  ;  but  in  Spain  they  had  so  much  to  do  with  the  suc 
cessful  commerce  of  the  country,  that  it  appears  as  impolitic 
as  unnecessary." 

"  Impolitic  it  was,  so  far  as  concerned  the  temporal 
interests  of  the  kingdom  ;  but  the  sovereigns  of  Spain 
d«cided  on  it,  from  the  religious  light  in  which  it  was  placed 
before  them  by  Torquemada.  It  is  whispered  that  Isabella 
would  never  have  consented  to  a  decree,  sentencing  so  many 
thousands  of  her  innocent  subjects  to  misery  and  expulsion, 
had  not  her  confessor  worked  on  her  conscience  in  an  unusual 
manner ;  alluding  to  some  unprecedented  favor  shown  to  one 
of  that  hated  race,  occasioned,  he  declared,  by  those  arts  of 
magic  which  might  occur  again  and  yet  again,  and  do  most 
fatal  evil  to  the  land.  Isabella  had,  it  appears,  when  re 
proached  by  Torquemada  for  her  act  of  mercy,  which  he 
termed  weakness,  pledged  herself,  not  to  interfere  with  his 
measures  for  the  extermination  of  the  unbelief,  and  on  this 
promise  of  course  he  worked,  till  the  edict  was  proclaimed." 

a  But  this  stranger,  what  had  he  to  do  with  it?"  demanded 
many  of  the  group,  impatient  at  the  interruption. 

"  What  he  had  to  do  with  it  I  really  cannot  tell  you,  but 
his  zeal  to  avert  the  edict  lost  him,  in  a  great  measure  the 
confidence  of  Ferdinand.  When  he  found  to  prevent  their 
expulsion  was  impossible,  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  lessen 
their  misfortune,  if  such  it  may  be  called,  by  relieving  every 
unbeliever  that  crossed  his  path." 

An  exclamation  of  horrified  astonishment  escaped  his 
auditors.  "  What  could  such  conduct  mean  ?  did  he  lean 
towards  unbelief  himself — " 

"  That  could  hardly  be,"  replied  Lord  Scales.  «  Unless 
he  had  been  a  Catholic,  earnest  and  zealous  as  herself, 
Isabella  would  never  have  so  esteemed  him,  as  to  give  him 
as  wife  her  especial  favorite,  Catherine  Pas,  and  place  him 
so  near  the  person  of  her  child.  When  I  left  Spain,  I  en 
treated  my  friend  to  accompany  me,  and  resume  his  heredi 
tary  title  and  estate,  but  I  pleaded  in  vain.  Some  more  than 
common  tie  seemed  to  devote  him  to  the  interests  of  the 
Queen  of  Castile,  whom  he  declared  he  would  never  leave 
unless  in  England  he  could  serve  her  better  than  in  Spain. 


256  THE    VALE    OF    CEDARS  j 

At  that  time  there  was  no  chance  of  such  au  event.  He  no\v 
tells  me,  that  it  was  Isabella's  earnest  request  that  he  should 
attend  the  Princess ;  be  always  near  her,  ind  so  decrease 
the  difficulties,  which  in  a  foreign  land  must  for  a  time  sur 
round  her.  The  Queen  is  broken  in  health,  and  dispirited, 
from  many  domestic  afflictions ;  and  it  was  with  tears,  she 
besought  him  to  devote  his  remaining  years,  to  the  service  of 
her  child,  and  be  to  the  future  Queen  of  England  true,  faithful, 
and  upright,  as  he  had  ever  been  to  the  Queen  of  Spain.  Need 
I  say  the  honorable  charge  was  instantly  accepted,  and  while 
he  resumes  his  rank  and  duties  as  a  Peer  of  his  native  land, 
the  grateful  service  of  an  adopted  son  of  Spain  will  ever  bo 
remembered  and  performed." 

"  But  his  name,  his  name  ?"  cried  many  eager  voices. 

"  ARTHUR  STANLEY,  EARL  OF  DERBY." 


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